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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816012">Standing in the Ashes of Who I Used to Be</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolannie/pseuds/pistolannie'>pistolannie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon Rewrite, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:21:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>106,667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolannie/pseuds/pistolannie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Madi had been given a precious gift that nobody else on the Earth could say they've had: almost six full years of peace.  When the Prison Transport ship landed in Shallow Valley, Clarke knew their lives would change, but nothing could have prepared her for the drastic twists and turns fate took when it ripped her from her life and threw her into another; an unfamiliar world riddled with familiar ghosts and a world of problems Clarke didn't know existed.  Clarke must navigate unfamiliar terrain and fill unfamiliar shoes in order to get back to protect the young life that saved her own.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Costia/Lexa (The 100), Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Finn Collins/Raven Reyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>822</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Good Mourning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just wanted to start off and say I really did like season 6 and I really do like season 7 so far, but I'm afraid I'll never get over Lexa's death and all I've really wanted was a way for Clarke and Lexa to meet again, so I came up with one.  I hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Praimfaya had arrived with a rage a thousand times angrier and fiercer than the precursory black rain and acid fog had indicated.  It swirled down through the sky like a chaotic storm of dark light and energy, pummeling through the trees and the ancient buildings, leaving nothing but rubble in its wake.  Clarke stumbled as she ran, her breathing ragged and her mouth dry as she felt the radiation seep through her cracked helmet.  It was slowly suffocating her, torturing her with burning eyes and skin, punishing her for the sins they’d all committed in vain attempts at survival.  She took a sharp breath and immediately felt the air sting and burn her lungs.  This was deserving.  All the pain and misery she’d caused were now hers to bear.  Everyone was safe, but her.  Her job was complete: her plan was a success, and her fight was over.  </p>
<p>She wanted to stay outside, to curl up on the ground and let the disaster take her away.  It could erase everything: All the damage she’s done was nothing in comparison to the wild entity that darkened the sky and suffocated the life out of every living thing it swept over.  All her bad judgement calls, all the blood on her hands, could be burned away if she only let the radiation take her.  Her aching heart, heavy with the guilt and loss of those she loved, could disintegrate along with the rest of the world.  Praimfaya could harness the power of Wanheda for all she cared.  Her feet, however, betrayed her as the storm chased her into Becca Pramheda’s lab. Coughing and gagging, she sealed herself in.  Living was harder, and she knew as well as anyone that she could not get out of the guilt and suffering that easily.</p>
<p>Clarke ripped off the useless helmet of the hazmat suit and gasped for “fresh” air as she fell with a thud to her knees.  The pain was lost on her as her vision slowly began to tunnel, dark spots clouding what was still left illuminated of the dark room before her.  She felt it before she heard it: the loud crack of the radiation storm crashing over the lab.  The force knocked her the remaining way to the floor, and the last thing she saw before her vision went completely dark was her cracked helmet on the ground a few feet in front of her.</p>
<p>The months following Praimfaya tested Clarke in ways she could only fathom in her darkest nightmares.  The hunger that clawed relentlessly at her stomach was bearable.  The isolation, however, was not.  Long days followed longer nights as she struggled to survive in the wasteland that became her new reality.  She tried in vain to contact everyone in the bunker.  She fashioned a radio to make answerless calls to space.  She spent the never-ending solitude drowning in her own selfish thoughts and guilty regrets.  </p>
<p>Then, Clarke found Shallow Valley.  Amidst the sea of sand and ghosts of Clarke’s past, a green paradise sat untouched by the apocalypse.  Here, she began to heal.  The loneliness still plagued her, and the guilt still crept in during the dark sleepless nights, but Clarke had found a home for herself.  For the first time since landing on Earth, Clarke was not looking over her shoulder for the next threat.  She closed both eyes at night, not worried about the enemy lurking around the corner.  She was able to relax.  </p>
<p>Until Madi.  The angry child with the wild hair and cheap hunting tactics quickly wormed her way into the empty cavity that had once held Clarke’s heart.  Madi chased away the loneliness and gave her a new purpose.  A purpose without having to choose who to sacrifice and who to save.  As the months passed, a lightness Clarke had never known before filled her soul, gave her strength, and gave her peace.  She reveled in the light in Madi’s eye as she told stories of her friends and their adventures, excited for their reunion but satisfied in the life she and Madi had made for themselves in Shallow Valley.  </p>
<p>Five years came and went in the blink of an eye.  She watched Madi grow with the changing seasons in their secluded corner of the desolate planet.  Time spent recalling tales and old, distant memories became time spent dreaming of what awaited them.  Madi wanted to go to school, to meet Murphy and Monty and Bellamy, to train with Octavia and become a great warrior, though Clarke privately hoped there wouldn’t be such a need for warriors.  Clarke was excited to share this land with her people, to see her mother again.  Surely, they thought her dead.  </p>
<p>The months following the five-year mark seemed to pass slower, as worry edged its way into Clarke’s newfound peaceful existence.  Why hadn’t Bellamy and the others returned from space?  The bunker was buried under tons of debris and had only planned on five years underground to sustain life. She’d tried to dig them out herself, but it wasn’t possible.  They were at an impasse, but Clarke had Madi now, so it was easy to invest all her focus in the feisty natblida who demanded she dye her hair with the berries that grew down the path to the river.  Besides, once the others arrived, they would come up with something on how to get the others out.  They always came up with something.  </p>
<p>Another year passed for Clarke and Madi in their quiet little valley before a literal sign from above signaled their lives forever changed.  The Gagarin Prison Transport tore through their quiet sky and Clarke found herself on the opposite end of the situation that had started her six-year history with the ground.  Like no time had passed, Clarke’s instincts kicked in and distrust flooded the soul that had spent years loving a child, braiding hair, and drawing pictures to go along with child-friendly versions of her memories.  </p>
<p>Clarke kept her jaw locked tight as they questioned her.  The woman seemed diplomatic enough, and perhaps six years ago Clarke would take her offer to peace into consideration, try to work out a deal, gain the upper hand somehow in the knowledge she shared and the insights she kept to herself.  Now, they had her backed into a corner.  Grossly outnumbered and with no wildcard up her sleeve, and with Madi out there, the only upper hand Clarke could claim is a tactic she learned from Lincoln all those years ago.  Don’t speak, play dumb, try to get them to reveal…</p>
<p>…..Until she no longer had that.  Her heart thumped uncomfortably hard against her rib cage and she cursed herself for not controlling her eyes.  The radio cracked to life again, and Clarke’s attention shot to the table behind her captor.  </p>
<p>
  <i>“Someone just ran out of that cave.  Harris, Flak, watch your six.  Fast little thing.  We can cut her off at the lake.  Go West.  Wait, scratch that.  She’s turning North.  I got a shot.”</i>
</p>
<p>“No!” Clarke gasped. Not Madi, she couldn’t let anything happen to her.  “She’s just a child.” </p>
<p>“She speaks,” the woman had the audacity to smirk at her. </p>
<p>“Please,” Clarke begged.  Madi was all she had.  Her whole world.  </p>
<p>“How many others were in the woods?” </p>
<p>Clarke swallowed a lump in her throat.  Her tough façade was gone, and all she could do was pray that these armed enemies couldn’t smell the fear rolling off her in waves.  </p>
<p>“None.  It’s just the two of us.  I am begging you.  Tell him not to shoot.”</p>
<p>“Fire at will.” Damn her.  Her only upper hand was the knowledge of the terrain, her home court advantage, and if she had to play that card to save Madi, she would tell these people everything.  </p>
<p>“I know where they are.  That’s our summer hunting grounds.  She’s leading them into a trap.  Listen to me.  If they don’t stop right now, those men will die.”  The man believed her.  “It’s the truth.  If you let her go, I’ll tell you everything.”  She couldn’t breathe if she wanted to, but then the woman was giving the order to stand down, and Clarke felt desperately afraid and relieved all at once.  She’d play along, she would surrender her secrets if it meant keeping Madi safe.  </p>
<p>It was working, as Clarke told the woman, Diyoza, everything she knew.  It was working, and Clarke was thinking that maybe this could be okay.  Maybe they could cohabitate Shallow Valley.  There was a lot of land, right?  They had a lot of people, maybe they could help dig everyone out of the bunker.  She would figure out the logistics for everyone to be happy as long as she could have Madi.  It was working, until it wasn’t.  The radio cracked to life again and Clarke’s heart stopped mid-thump and lodged itself in her throat.  How had these people found in a few hours what she and Madi had never come across in six years?  There <i>wasn’t</i> anyone else.  </p>
<p>“I didn’t lie.  I don’t know-,” she pleaded. </p>
<p>“Take her outside.  Use the collar.” Diyoza stood and left, leaving Clarke with a disgusting man with a smile equally terrifying. </p>
<p>“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his lips curling around his teeth in a sick way as Clarke was roughly grabbed, a metal collar strapped around her neck and dragged outside, unceremoniously thrown into the grass.  She tried to stand, to push herself off the ground, when a sick jolt ran through her entire body, reaching the extremity of every limb.  Her teeth crashed together as her body seized and shook, no longer controlled by her but a slave to the pain coursing through every nerve.  She fought until she couldn’t, and black colored the edges of her vision, growing and filling up her sightline until she saw and felt nothing.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>Clarke was awake before she opened her eyes: she could see light shining through her closed lids, and at first didn’t think twice about where the source could be coming from.  She was more distracted by the warm sensation enveloping her limbs, her back, and her head.  She was comfortable.  Comfortable and warm, snuggled up into a soft surface that had a soft foreign scent she’s never smelled before: light, floral, and clean.  Although her body resisted, she managed to open her eyes and power over the temptation to fall back asleep.  How late had she slept?  Madi wasn’t usually one to – Madi.  The events of the previous night flooded back and woke Clarke quicker than a cold bucket of water, the painful memory of the collar lighting up every nerve ending in her body.  She shot up, her relaxation and comfort replaced by a tension in her neck and back that she hadn’t carried in years, and a panicked gasp filled her chest as she looked wildly around unfamiliar surroundings.</p>
<p>She was in a room, half lit by a window on the wall opposite her.  Curtains were drawn haphazardly, but a beam of light slipped through the uncovered glass window and shone directly on her face.  Shallow Valley and the home she’d fashioned there had been her favorite, most comfortable place to live, but by no means were the windows clean or the curtains in such good condition.  Clarke struggled free from the cocoon of clean, cotton blankets.  Her feet were tangled in the linens spread messily across the bed and before she knew it, she was on the floor with a thud.  Not the scuffed hardwood of her familiar home, but a carpeted floor.  She ran her hands along it, her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage as she managed to crawl up to a kneeling position and take in the room.  </p>
<p>Her eyes darted to each corner, and after identifying the location of the door, she tucked herself closer to the bed and crouched, using the bed for cover should the simple wooden door swing open and reveal her captors.  The décor didn’t seem to match the profile of the inhabitants of the Prison Transport ship.  The walls were a soft grey, matching the carpet a little too closely.  There was a dresser, the same dark wood as a nightstand that was digging sharper into her back the more she distanced herself from the doorway.  There was a second door in the room, ajar and leading into a dark space that her current position did not give her a visual on.  Her eyes traced the tops of the walls and the ceiling, scanning for a camera.  She only saw a dusty light fixture hanging solitary from the center of the ceiling, looking as though it hadn’t been cleaned for a long time.  Certainly not 97 years and a nuclear war long time, but it didn’t have the sterile feel she was familiar with the last time she had been brought prisoner to a strange place with hollow hospitality.</p>
<p>Articles of clothing littered the floor around a half empty basket filled with more tucked into the corner between the two doors.  Several pairs of shoes – not boots, she noted – piled into a careless heap against the wall.  They all seemed relatively clean but showed obvious signs of use, and she furrowed her brow and took a sharp breath as her eyes flicked toward the door then swept again around the room.  She and Madi had explored every corner of Shallow Valley, they would have found this place.  They probably would have lived here, with it being as well preserved as it was.  </p>
<p>Praying for her heart to be quiet as it pounded relentlessly, Clarke forced herself to stop breathing and hone all her focus on listening to her surroundings.  She was met with an eerie silence.  No radios cracking in the distance, none of the gruff voices she’d heard the previous night, and no familiar sounds from the little girl she’d shared the last six years with.  The urge to find and protect Madi bubbled up in her nauseated stomach, and she scanned the room again for a potential escape.  The window seemed to be the best option, and she hurriedly sprung to her feet and crossed the bed with ease, returning to a crouch as she made her way silently toward the window, but her breath caught her throat and another wave of panic hit her as she peered through the opening in the curtains.  From her kneeling position, she didn’t need to see much more to know she was up on a higher floor than a window escape would allow, but her curiosity got the better of her and she peered down and looked at the sight below.  It was like nothing she’d ever seen in real life: tall buildings lined the busy road.  Automobiles sped down in both directions on either side of the road, and Clarke felt her breath hitch in her throat.  Automobiles she’d only previously seen in a destructed state, glass broken and rust painted, zoomed down a paved road at a speed not possible on a tree-ridden and vegetation dominated pathway. </p>
<p>“What the hell,” she muttered to herself, trying to somehow reawaken from this nightmare.  They were domestic cars, not a rover in sight.  Her mind flashed back to the City of Light, but even from her vantage point she could see the stress and rush radiate off the passersby.  In a sick sense of defeat, Clarke slid down to the ground with her back against the wall, focusing on her breathing and the sounds of the engines and occasional honking of horns only slightly muffled by the thin glass of the window.  She put her hands up to her now clammy forehead and rubbed vigorously.  “Think,” she spat at herself, growing more fearful and more frustrated as the cars rumbled on past in an endless stream of energy.  She had to get out of here.  She had to get back to Madi.  </p>
<p>She allowed herself two more moments to collect her breath and her thoughts and crawled back slowly and quietly to the other opened door across the room.  As soon as her palms touched the cold tile, she brought herself back up to a crouch as she surveyed the new surroundings.  It was a small bathroom, with towels thrown carelessly on the ground.  Clarke had to smile bitterly at this: At least whoever was keeping her this time, while albeit not the tidiest, had the decency to keep the toilet in a different room as the bed.</p>
<p>With another cautious glance behind her and one more auditory check that she couldn’t hear anyone outside the still closed door, she allowed herself to stand up for the first time and took a few tentative steps into the bathroom.  She jumped slightly when her bare foot landed on a damp towel.  It had been recently used, and Clarke felt her breathing speed up as she tried to swallow the lump that was forming rapidly in her throat.  Her eyes darted around the room for anything she could use as protection, landing on a razor laying crooked on the counter next to the sink.  She reached over and snatched it up without a second thought and, holding the razor defensively, pushed open the striped curtain to reveal an empty white porcelain bathtub and attached shower.  </p>
<p>Letting out a low breath at confirming her somewhat secured position, Clarke allowed her gaze to move around the small tiled room and take in the details.  The area was obviously lived in: there was a hair dryer plugged into the wall and resting on the lid of the toilet, hand towels draped haphazardly on the edge of the counter cluttered with a tube of toothpaste and two toothbrushes that were identical in style and differing in color.  She breathed slowly and deeply again, forcing herself to calm down, but her mind just continued to reel irrationally.  Her thoughts kept going to the worst: Where was Madi?  Where was <i>she</i>?  What did the Gagarin Prisoners do to her?  </p>
<p>Before she could gain any control of her bearings, she heard a door slam shut in her vicinity.  Her eyes crashed toward the door to the bedroom and, as if in slow motion, the knob turned, and the door slowly opened.  </p>
<p>“Clarke?” A male voice called softly through the empty room, and Clarke’s heart sped up to a deafening speed.  She gripped the razor tighter, not trusting herself to hide in time to not be noticed.  She would have to fight her way out.  She bent her knees slightly in defense as the figure stepped fully into the room and made no motion to shut the door behind him.  Possible escape route.  She didn’t have time to contemplate further, because when her eyes trailed up to meet the face of her captor, the blood ran cold in her veins and the razor fell to the ground soundlessly as it hit the damp towel beneath her feet. </p>
<p>“Finn?” she mouthed, her voice failing her.  She couldn’t believe her eyes.  Finn stood tall in front of her, looking so much more… alive than the last time she’d seen him.  He looked older, slightly, and his hair was shorter than he’d ever had it.  He gave her a cautious smile and stepped into the bathroom, the cheer in his eyes slowly melting to worry as he took Clarke in, eventually creasing his forehead in concern as Clarke continued to gape open-mouthed at him. </p>
<p>“You okay? I tried to wake you up this morning when I got up, but you were out,” he said slowly, not making any motions to grab her or restrain her.  How long had she been here?  The questions flooded through her surprise, and she felt herself gasping for a breath that drew in sharply and came out shaky.  </p>
<p>“I thought y-,” she managed to stammer out.  “I k-killed you.”</p>
<p>“If you haven’t killed me by now, I don’t think you ever will,” Finn said with a charming, teasing smile.  “You okay?  You look a little pale.  Have a nightmare?” he continued when she didn’t react to his joke, moving forward to pull her into an embrace.  Clarke stiffened immediately at the contact and tried to keep conscious.  Nightmare? No, this was the nightmare. She knew nightmares, she’d had them ever since getting to the ground. She had lived it, she felt his warm blood on her hands, she remembered the pressure she had to apply to get the knife to pierce his skin.  She remembered the way his body had stiffened when she <i>stabbed</i> him and lived it time and time again in her <i>nightmares</i>.  Restrained and ready for the slaughter, she had remembered Finn and that night in her dreaming and waking hours for weeks, haunted by the life she took for the greater good.  Yet here he apparently was, alive and well and dismissing her haunted memory as a dream.  </p>
<p>“Y-you, you were,” she started, but Finn only chuckled and tugged lightly on the ends of her hair.</p>
<p>“I’m fine, you didn’t kill me,” Finn whispered in her ear, his hand rubbing light, comforting circles on her back.  Her breath hitched in her throat for the hundredth time since she woke up, and she felt tears threatening to burn her eyes.  Before she could dwell further, she felt Finn loosening his grasp and pulling away from her.  She harshly blinked the tears back into her eyes, willing them not to make a reappearance as she came face to face with the man she’d killed, taking the burden of witnessing torture off the hundreds of her people looking on.  If this was her own personal brand of torture, these prisoners were even more dangerous than she’d originally thought.</p>
<p>“Are you okay, Clarke?” His voice repeating the question smashed her thoughts and her eyes snapped so quickly back to his that she almost felt dizzy.  His full of life brown eyes looked worried as they bored into hers, and she slowly nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.  She kept her gaze sharp on his, while he scanned her face, the worried look deepening further before slipping into resignation.  They stood like that for what felt like hours, before Finn finally gave her a sigh and stepped away.  She noticed a slight disappointment in his demeanor, but he tore his gaze away from hers and turned to leave the bathroom.  </p>
<p>“I’m going to go pick up Sam,” he said over his shoulder.  “Want to come?”</p>
<p>Sam?  She didn’t know a Sam, she didn’t care about picking up a Sam.  She cared about Madi, she needed to find Madi.</p>
<p>“Where’s Madi?” she demanded, her voice coming out rougher and harsher than she’d heard herself sound in years.  Finn stopped in his tracks and turned back to her fully, confusion painting his boyish features and Clarke felt her heart sink without understanding why.  “Madi,” she repeated urgently, willing him to understand.</p>
<p>“Who’s Madi?” he asked her slowly, and the look he was giving her made her insides squirm uncomfortably.  She wasn’t crazy, this wasn’t happening.  This was some sort of nightmare. </p>
<p>“Madi, she’s my-,” Clarke stammered.  Maybe she was dead.  She was dead, she was in hell with Finn, and Madi wasn’t here.  Clarke gulped a lungful of air and Finn came up to her again and frowned, putting a hand to her forehead.  </p>
<p>“Do you feel all right?  Maybe you should go back to bed,” he said, but Clarke shook her head quickly.  </p>
<p>“Never mind,” she said, swallowing the guilt and worry.   She’d have to find Madi on her own, find out what was going on, and she couldn’t do that from bed.  “I’ll uh, I’ll come with you,” she choked out.</p>
<p>Finn must have taken that as a good thing, because he shot her a small smile before turning back around.  As he pushed the bedroom door all the way open and called back to her as he exited, “That’ll make him happy.  He’s missed you.”</p>
<p>Clarke inhaled sharply as Finn left her alone in the bathroom, a thousand more questions swarming her thoughts than five minutes ago.  Who was Sam?  Where was Madi?  She’d been home, in Shallow Valley, tortured in her own front yard, now this?  She’d survived running away from the end of the world, but maybe she’d finally gotten there.  Clarke let out a low breath and walked over to the sink, spinning the faucets in whatever way she could until she got the water running.  She splashed her face until the collar of the old gray t shirt she was wearing was soaked.  She fidgeted with the faucet again until it turned off, and she slowly let her eyes trail up to meet the sharp blue mirror imaged pair staring back at her.  </p>
<p>She had been half expecting to look at the face of someone else; another being entirely.  She brought her hands to her face and pushed, feeling it solid and very real. Her own face stared back at her exactly how she remembered it from the old cracked mirror at home.  Her hair was the same, she looked relatively healthy.  No evidence from the scuffle with the prisoners marred her skin. She took a deep breath and stared at her reflection, willing herself to pull it together and get some answers before pushing herself off the bathroom sink and headed back towards the bedroom.  </p>
<p>In her haste, she hadn’t taken a solid inventory of all the things that cluttered the small bedroom’s surfaces: A digital alarm clock showing 12:45 PM in bright red digits sat in the corner of the messier of the two nightstands.  There was a man’s old, beat up watch placed carefully among an assortment of small, round silver and bronze coins, and a knocked on the side box of tissues. <i> No, it couldn’t be…</i> Clarke crossed to the table in two quick strides and picked up the watch, turning it over in her hands as if not believing it.  The screen was cracked, and the time was stopped, but… It was her dad’s watch.  She put it on, the gears in her mind turning furiously.  This could be another City of Light situation, she was dreaming, or she was the only place she had known Finn to be… Dead.  Finn’s voice sounded again from the doorway, tearing her out of her thoughts and visibly startling her.</p>
<p>“Are you going to put on pants or are we getting kicked out of the school again?” laughter lit up his eyes as he looked her over, and she took a quick glace down at her bare legs and felt a slight heat creep up her neck.  Thankfully, Finn didn’t linger, and she heard his laughter retreat as he walked out of the room yet again.  Clarke didn’t need to be told twice: she grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and pulled them on, only half surprised they fit perfectly and she reached over to shuffle through the pile of shoes she’d spotted earlier.  There was one pair of men’s dress shoes, one pair of black high heels, and a smaller, worn pair of gray tennis shoes she guessed would also fit her perfectly.  Sliding them on, she hurried out of the small room and followed the path Finn’s laughter had taken earlier.  </p>
<p>She passed by two closed doors down a short, carpeted hallway with bare walls and another dirty, dark light fixture.  The hallway opened to a small room, a tiny living area to her right and a tinier kitchen to her left.  There was a small couch facing another cluttered surface: a dark wood coffee table, and a tv mounted to the wall across from the two.  She let her eyes wander to a small console table behind the sofa, and she barely had time to glance at a picture of <i>herself</i>, younger than she was now and smiling wider than she can ever remember doing, in a long, flowing white dress, her blonde hair pulled up into an intricate updo as she clung to Finn.  In the photo, Finn was looking closer to how she remembered him, with shaggy brown hair and a smug smile, dressed in a fancy suit she’d only ever seen in textbooks from before the bombs.  She snapped her gaze away from the picture at the sound of Finn, jingling a set of keys at her in an impatient way.  Taking that as her cue, Clarke cleared her throat and followed him out into yet another hallway.</p>
<p>She followed him silently, her eyes speeding around, trying desperately to absorb any detail she could; spot any clue that would lead her to any answer.  Her legs felt shaky beneath her as she struggled to keep up with Finn’s cheerful pace.  Identical doors lined the dimly lit hallway, but they passed them all and exited through a door that reminded Clarke eerily of Mount Weather, and her heart quickened as she wondered briefly if she could be entering down into a bunker, or to her death, or perhaps this was her hell, and she was going to be going down stairs forever, following the ghost of a boy she knew at a very pivotal time in her life. </p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, none of her dramatic predictions were correct.  Their descent lasted only two flights of stairs before Finn was pushing open another Mount Weather-like door marked ‘Exit.’ The sunlight that flooded into Clarke’s face was blinding, and she instantly put her arm up to block out the rays and get her bearings.  It was a parking lot.  She followed Finn over to a small black car and took his lead, climbing into the passenger seat and immediately pulling on the seat belt.  It was much smaller than the rover and when Finn turned the engine, she was almost startled to not hear the familiar load roar that accompanied firing up hers and Madi’s primary transportation for the last six years. </p>
<p>“So, what time did you end up getting in last night?” he asked nonchalantly as he pulled the car out onto the road Clarke recognized from the window earlier. Clarke was so engrossed in watching the world start to move around them she almost didn’t hear his question.  <i>Better to play along</i>, she thought, before glancing over at him out of the corner of her eye.  His eyes were on the road and he didn’t look upset.  But then again, since she’d seen him literally facing his own death, she didn’t know if she could accurately judge how “upset” he may or may not look.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure,” she replied honestly and confidently, hoping that would be an appropriate answer.  Finn seemed satisfied.  She saw his head nod slightly in her peripheral vision and let herself take another deep, calming breath, and turned her attention to the world she found herself in. </p>
<p>The streets seemed even busier down in the middle of the traffic than it had looked from the window, flowing by at a steady pace.  Tall buildings of varying heights seemed to loom over her, and she instinctively looked down at her father’s watch to see if it had started working, counting down, something.  Anything.  The symbol of the Commander no longer shone on the face, and it remained as cracked and still as ever.  Pedestrians in clean, new clothing walked in both directions on both sides of the road, some of them alone, some of them talking to themselves, some in a hurry and others taking their time as the sun beat down on them.  Not a weapon in sight. </p>
<p>She studied every road sign they passed, and while all of them looked clean and intact, she recognized the familiar style of the sign and did not recognize a single name they passed.  School, Finn had mentioned something about going to a school.  To pick up Sam? Sam, the one who evidently missed her.  Her mind was reeling as Finn turned the car after what seemed like five hours and ten seconds all at the same time.  He pulled slowly into the parking lot of a school called West Hills Elementary and shut the car off.  There were hundreds of children screaming and running around the front yard, and Clarke felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as Finn got out of the car.  The children were of varying ages, but she recognized something of Madi in every one of them.  The ones that lollygagged, laughed, ran, and teased all had her eyes frantically scanning for the mess of brown hair she’d come to know as her daughter.  Slowly, unsteadily, and with immense uncertainty, Clarke took Finn’s lead and got out of the car.  Her feet had adopted a mind of their own, following Finn like he was the guiding light leading her down a black tunnel with no end.  She barely had time to register her feet hitting the soft, green grass, when she heard a shrill voice scream out above all the other cries.</p>
<p>“Momma!” her eyes snapped around, looking for the source when she felt a small force barreling against her legs and wrapping tiny arms tight around her thighs.  She gaped down at a small, dark blonde head shoving his face against her, her arms instinctively drawn up to avoid being trapped in the surprisingly tight and unexpected embrace.  She looked up at Finn who was looking at her oddly again, giving her a sharp questioning look, and she managed to snap her mouth shut and look back at the little face now smiling up at her.  </p>
<p><i>Momma? No, this isn’t her.  She calls me Clarke,</i> she thought to herself as she forced herself to react.  The child couldn’t be older than five or six, he was roughly the same size as Madi was when she first found her, and he had dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes, almost perfect clones of the ones she’d stared at in the mirror less than thirty minutes ago.  She tightly stretched her lips up into a smile and reached out to touch his hair, surprising only herself.  He grinned up at her expectantly, and Clarke felt herself relax into a more natural smile. There was a mischievous glint in his eye that reminded her of Madi, bartering to stay up late for one more story.  With a heavy heart, she smoothed some of the flyaway hairs, softer and cleaner than she’d come to know.</p>
<p> “Hey, Sam,” she managed to croak, praying this was indeed Sam.  It must have been, and it must be that Finn was also right: He was happy to see her. Finn had seemed to relax at her reaction to the child, and she had a feeling that she wanted to keep her behavioral red flags to a minimum if she wanted any answers out of Finn.  Him thinking she was crazy would only draw suspicion to her situation, and the last thing she wanted was to be admitted and trapped in another medical facility, even though she was starting to believe that’s exactly what she needed.  </p>
<p>“Come on, buddy.  How was school?” Finn said as he turned back in the direction of the car.  Sam immediately grabbed Clarke’s hand and took off after Finn, excitedly chatting about his school day.  Clarke couldn’t bring herself to pay attention to the little boy’s words, it took all the focus she had to put one foot in front of the other to keep up with the little hand that was pulling her along.  This was all too different, too surreal.  She had a child, with Finn? She had a photo in a wedding dress, like she’d seen in photos from Earth before the bombs, married? To Finn, definitely.  Clarke inwardly scoffed at the thought.  Not exactly the route she would have chosen, considering…</p>
<p>Clarke was torn from her thoughts by the small group’s arrival at the car, where the two boys piled in, still chatting away.  She mimicked their actions, trying to seem as practiced as possible as she pulled the seatbelt tightly across herself.  Clarke’s ears felt like they were deafened by the pounding of her heart, and she fought the desire again to let her eyes roll into the back of her head and slip into unconsciousness.  She focused on her breathing and the rumble of the engine as Finn started the car again and began the short drive back to the apartment.  </p>
<p>Sam talked the entire drive back, as well as the entire walk up to the apartment.  Clarke was silently thankful to Finn for responding with interest to everything the little boy said, because she couldn’t force her mind to tune into the small voice to save her life.  Her thoughts were too loud, it took too much concentration to keep walking.  She surprised herself, however, at the transition back into reality once she heard herself being addressed, back inside the small cluttered apartment and surrounded by the heavy presence of the two strangers both eagerly awaiting her answer.  She looked up at them, confusion passing her face. <i>Shit, they’d been talking to her.</i></p>
<p>If there was an entity watching over her, it chose this moment to intervene and save what little face Clarke had left.  A sharp ringing suddenly sounded through the small apartment.  Clarke startled at the noise, earning herself another odd, worried look from Finn as he rummaged through the pockets of his jacket until he pulled out the offending device, and only when he tore his gaze away from hers to look at the lighted screen did Clarke allow herself a curious glance toward it. </p>
<p>Clarke had always considered herself adept at using technology: she’d grown up watching her mother use medical devices on The Ark, and her father, an engineer, practically lived through little boxes of circuits and wires and she almost smiled at the memory of his excited features showing her his latest trick.  What Finn held reminded her of a smaller version of the standard computing tablets they all used at one point or another for day to day life on the Ark.  She’d never had one herself: children usually weren’t allowed to touch them after the first generation suffered a serious loss in data after a particularly clumsy (or clever) child managed to do a total system reset on his parent’s device, and by the time she was old enough to be trusted, well… she went in the more hands on direction instead.<br/>
“It’s your mom.  Is your phone dead again?” Finn grumbled in annoyance, sliding his finger across the screen as he brought the device up to his ear.  Clarke barely had time to register what he was saying when she heard a voice coming through the other side that she’d been waiting for six years to hear again.</p>
<p>Abby’s voice was shrill and a little panicked; Clarke could see the disdain on Finn’s face and did not blame him in the slightest for wincing as he pulled the phone, as he’d called it, away from his ear at the tone. </p>
<p>
  <i>“Finn, have you seen Clarke?  She isn’t answering any of my calls and I’ve got about thirty seconds before I call Jackson down to assist me on this cholecystectomy.”</i>
</p>
<p>“I’m fine, thanks, Abby.  It’s nice to hear from you as well,” Finn replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes so far into the back of his head that it could have made Clarke laugh had she not woken up in a life that wasn’t her own.  </p>
<p>
  <i>“This is serious Finn.  Where is she?”</i>
</p>
<p>“She’s right here -- talk to her yourself,” he said in a surly tone, and with a look that matched, he shoved the phone less than lovingly toward Clarke who fumbled with it in her uncontrollably shaking hands.  </p>
<p>“I want to talk to Grandma!” Clarke had all but forgotten the little boy was somehow involved in this situation.  She glanced quickly down at him and mouthed “One minute,” before eagerly pulling the phone up to her own ear and praying her voice came out clear and concise. </p>
<p>“Mom?” she rasped, cursing her self-motivation as she closed her eyes and leaned against the sofa table behind her.  Her mind quickly whittled back to a previous theory of the current situation: if she was dead, had her mother not been safely inside the bunker when Praimfaya hit?  The thought made her chest tight and she squeezed her eyes even tighter.</p>
<p><i>“Clarke, is your phone still dead?  I called you at least six times.  I’ve got a cholecystectomy in an hour.  Are you in?” </i>Clarke’s brow furrowed, and she ransacked her mental database.  Of course, Abby would still be a surgeon in this alternate reality.  She had a quick flashback of her mother showing her the operating room on the Ark.  The completely sterile environment, all the tools laid neatly across a pristine, shiny metal tray.  It was the opposite of the experiences Clarke had gathered for herself during her time on the ground.  She’d performed rough butcher jobs that did well enough to stop bleeding, save lives, and leave an unnecessarily nasty scar to show for it.  </p>
<p><i>“Clarke?” </i>her mother’s impatient voice called out again, drawing Clarke back to reality.  <i>Reality, right. </i></p>
<p>“M-mom, I-,” she stammered, unable to get out a complete sentence.  If this woman who married Finn and had his child was also a surgeon, Clarke felt like she might as well go jump out that window now.  There was no way in hell she could fake her way through an advanced surgical procedure without being admitted, or, more than likely, killing the patient. This façade was getting harder and harder to maintain by the minute, but she had to try.  For Madi.</p>
<p><i>“Clarke are you okay?”</i> her mother’s voice spoke softer, and for the first time during their brief conversation, Clarke felt like she was actually talking to her mom.  There was something about the way her voice had smoothed and slowed that brought her back instantly to herself as a little girl, upset and seeking her mother’s comfort.  Clarke wanted nothing more than to retreat to that, to cry to her mother and tell her she didn’t know where she was or how she got here, to tell her she was sorry for everything that had happened on the ground and how terrified she was that she might never see her again.  But, she couldn’t do that.  She needed answers, and clearly, Abby didn’t have them.</p>
<p>“Y-yeah Mom, I’m fine.  I just, I think-,” she paused, for the first time in their conversation, opening her eyes and letting them trail over to the other two inhabitants of the apartment.  Finn had sat on the couch and turned on the tv: he was watching some sort of grotesque hand-to-hand combat that looked a lot to Clarke like two grown men beating the shit out of each other while a crowd of equally grown men cheered on, <i>soulou gonplei</i>.  The volume was down low, and as the words fell from her mouth, she saw his head turned slightly, listening to her conversation but still not looking at her.  Sam was still standing next to her, silently begging to talk with Abby.  This could be her out. </p>
<p>“I think the uh, boys – Finn and Sam – had something fun planned for tonight.  I can’t crush their little spirits today,” Clarke choked out, hoping that didn’t sound as strange coming out of her own mouth to her mother as it did to her.  In her peripheral vision she saw Finn turn slightly, but she avoided his gaze and looked back down at Sam.  </p>
<p>
  <i>“Your residency is important! I suppose you have been here for about a month on end, but sometimes, Clarke, that’s what it take- “</i>
</p>
<p>“Hey, I know you have to go but I think Sam wanted to tell you something,” Clarke quickly spat out, silencing what she knew to be the onset of a disappointment speech.  This may be a different time and place, but she was still Abby’s daughter and could sense a lecture coming from a mile away.  She seized her opportunity and pushed the phone down to Sam, who shrieked with excitement and began speaking with his grandmother at a pace quick enough to make Clarke feel like she didn’t understand English.  She sighed and rubbed her temples but smirked nonetheless as she watched the young child solve her problem for her.  One down, a million to go.</p>
<p>There was so much new information to process that Clarke could feel a dull headache forming behind her eyes at her attempt to churn it all around and make sense of it.  The child talking a thousand miles a minute didn’t do much to help, either.  Once again, she found herself so wrapped up in her thoughts that she failed to notice Finn move from the couch to directly beside her, and she jumped as his hand grazed her waist.  </p>
<p>“So, busy, important Dr. Collins-Griffin finally has some time for us, huh?” he whispered in her ear, and the words sent a shock down her back and jarred her eyes open.  <i>Dr. Collins-Griffin… Finn Collins. </i> Clarke inwardly groaned as her surprised reaction was entirely misinterpreted by Finn, who proceeded to nuzzle into the crook of her neck.  She pushed him away gently, flashing him a tight, forced smile.  She would have to think about this later, but for now this was one fact of her newfound existence she did not want to contemplate… at all. At least she had the sense to hyphenate.<br/>
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said lowly, even though by the look in his eyes, she could tell he was indeed flattering himself.  <i>Great. </i></p>
<p>Clarke was starting to unblur the edges of mystery that was this little family unit: familiar faces but total strangers, that surrounded her.  She was the mother, wife, obviously the breadwinner, who spent too much time at work and not enough time at home.  A far cry from the simple life she lived two days ago.  Finn was clearly happy with her for her decision to stay, and Sam – well, she couldn’t really tell yet, but he seemed hyper and excited just by being alive. </p>
<p>“Bye Grandma, I love you too.  Okay, I’ll tell her,” the little boy chirped as he practically ran the phone back over to Finn.  “Grandma says you’re losing your edge, but I don’t care because now this means we can order pizza!” he practically screamed, leaping into Clarke and hooting with elation.  She barely had time to steady herself against the console table behind her as Sam hung off her like a monkey.<br/>
Finn laughed at the antics of the child and pulled him off Clarke, throwing him upside down over his shoulder.  “You’re twisting my words, kid. I said we <i>might</i> order pizza next time Mom took a night off.  But, since I don’t really feel like cooking, why not?” Clarke smirked at this.  Finn: her housewife.  Never in a million years. </p>
<p>Clarke let the rest of the evening play out, though her mind never relaxed from searching for clues about what could have happened to her, what could have happened to Madi.  Try as she might, it didn’t seem like there were any clues to be found in this simple evening.  She watched the interactions between Finn and Sam, found herself laughing as the boy relentlessly teased his father, and even joining in when she saw opportunities she couldn’t pass up.  It was still strange, and there were still so many questions that needed to be answered, but for the rest of the night Clarke could sense no impending danger in the cluttered little apartment that was much too small for a child to be laughing so loudly in.  In fact, it was all a little too easy, and had she not been worried sick about the whereabouts of her daughter, she might have even had a little bit of fun.</p>
<p>Finn was reminding her of when they’d first gotten on the ground.  Before their friends were being speared before their eyes, before the darkness of war had crept into his features.  She couldn’t see a single trace of the man who’d massacred an entire village of people in a blinded rage.  He seemed light and fun, and he especially seemed to enjoy the presence of the small blonde-haired boy who was constantly climbing over him in attempts to rough house. Sam reminded her of a mixture of Madi at that age, and herself, and not just because the more she looked at him, the more she realized he physically <i>looked like her</i>. She swore there was even some of her dad in his smile.  He was snarky and clever, quick to tease and couldn’t necessarily take what he dished out. There was an air of innocence around him that Clarke could only assume came from not knowing what it was like to see parents, friends, neighbors being punished for menial crimes by death.  He’d never been confined to a stark gray landscape, knowing from birth it was his destiny to die for the survival of humanity. He had sun-kissed cheeks and scrapes on his elbows from playing outside and running free, and his jeans, while torn from use and stained with grass, never once belonged to someone sixty years his senior.  </p>
<p>As the hyperactivity of the evening seemed to die down, she allowed herself to dwell on that train of thought, contemplating the vast difference between yesterday and today.  She went from literally running for her life, bartering with the enemy and being tortured, to spending half the day asleep and the other half eating greasy food and laughing at stupid jokes. Realistically, she knew there was no way to go from the end of days to a seemingly normal day in a seemingly normal life that she’d apparently been living for more than a few years.  Yet, here she was, conscious, breathing, and as confused as ever.</p>
<p>She didn’t know how long she’d been in her own little thought bubble but was yet again torn out from the sound of a loud shriek resulting from Finn grabbing Sam by the ankles and carrying him towards one of the closed doors in the now completely dark hallway. </p>
<p>“All right, it’s time for bed.  Let’s go,” Finn’s voice rang with laughter over Sam’s laughing and screaming empty pleas to put him down. Trying to maintain the ruse that she knew what was going on, Clarke followed them, flipping on every light switch she passed, until she found herself in the doorway of what could only be Sam’s bedroom.  </p>
<p>The room was small and made the rest of the house seem pristine.  Obviously, it was the norm because Finn expertly evaded every pile of clothes and toys on his way to dropping the child head first on the unmade twin sized bed.  </p>
<p>“Five more minutes!” he screeched.  Finn ignored him as he reached over into one of the drawers, felt around for a minute, and eventually grabbed a pair of sweat pants off the floor.  He threw them over in Sam’s direction and looked up at Clarke and rolled his eyes.  “No, go brush your teeth and come tell us good night when you’re ready.”</p>
<p>Finn obviously cared about Sam: he was a fun father, but Clarke could tell he lacked a little in the discipline department as Sam ignored the request and started to pull some toys together from a pile on his little bed.  The thought alone made her feel entirely out of her element and more aware of the strangeness of her situation than ever, assessing Finn’s parenting style.  He wasn’t the disciplinarian, because it was probably her job.  She didn’t have time to dwell on the oddity of her situation, so she slipped quickly into a role she perfected after learning to live with Madi, raising her eyebrow at Sam until he sprang into action and stepping aside to allow Finn his exit.  He walked into the room Clarke had woken up in and Clarke took a deep breath, following him in.  </p>
<p>Maybe this day was all just a sick dream: she was delusional from the shock collar.  She’d wake up in a lot of pain and be a captive in her own home.  Clarke couldn’t help but look forward to that as she watched Finn pull off his shirt and get into the bed.  </p>
<p>“I don’t think I’ve seen him that excited and hyper since your mom and Marcus took him to the zoo in DC.  He’s really missed you, you know,” Finn said as soon as he saw Clarke enter the room.  Her heart stopped for a full six seconds.  </p>
<p>“DC? As in Tondc? <i> Marcus</i>?” she repeated before she had the chance to stop herself. Finally, a familiarity, but she immediately regretted the words as Finn frowned at her, yet again.</p>
<p>“<i>Washing</i>ton DC, yes,” Finn said slowly, completely ignoring her questioning of Marcus.  “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” </p>
<p>“I’m fine, I just need to… shower,” she said as avoiding his gaze led her to rest her eyes on the still ajar bathroom door.  She had barely registered the point of the comment; her mind was fixated on the familiar location.  The sense of relaxation that the light evening had provoked was gone, and the urgent need to find answers filled its place.  Clarke walked toward the bathroom and shut the door behind her before Finn could object.  She took a slow, deep breath, forcing herself to calm down and focus. </p>
<p>She quickly stripped and turned on the water, hopping in before the pipes pushed out any warm water.  She let the stream pound her face, running Finn’s words over in her head.  Her mother and Marcus had taken Sam to DC, Tondc.  With a slight break in her heart she realized her father wasn’t in the picture.  For whatever reason she hadn’t put together that a reunion with the dead could mean she’d see her father again, but hearing those words solidified a hope she hadn’t even considered.  The guilt, fear, and confusion hit her all at once, and she bit her lip to keep in the sob that was tugging at the back of her throat. </p>
<p>She never thought she’d miss the radiation-soaked war zone that was the ground.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>Clarke raised her eyes, meeting the Commander’s heavy gaze.  </p>
<p>“You should come with me to the capital.  Polis will change the way you think about us,” Lexa said softly.  Her heart hammered against her chest as she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word in, Lexa’s expression changed in an instant from the calm, reserved, stoicism she usually carried to one of pain, fear, and apology.  Clarke watched in horror as her black warpaint started to drip down her face, mixing with the black blood that started streaming from her nose and mouth.</p>
<p>“No!” she managed to yell, pushing her way through the grasp of men from out of nowhere who were suddenly grabbing her, restraining her.  She kicked her way free and fell to her knees as Lexa collapsed on the floor.  “No… no.  Not again, Lexa! Stay with me Lexa!” she cried, ripping through the never-ending leather straps and belts that secured Lexa’s armor. </p>
<p>“Stay with me, Lexa,” she ordered, and Lexa gave her a small smile behind the black blood steadily flowing from her mouth.</p>
<p>“My fight is over,” she said in a voice so quiet, Clarke wasn’t sure she even heard her say it.  She didn’t need to hear her again, she’d played the memory over enough times in her mind as she tortured herself with that moment.  </p>
<p>“No,” she shakily said, her heart already knowing it was in vain.  “I won’t accept that.”  She watched the light dim from Lexa’s eyes once again, ripping open the old scars on her burning heart and sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through her lungs.   She barely had time to let out a sob of a breath when a figure hidden by the shadows roughly pushed her away, breaking her contact with Lexa.  Clarke watched in horror as her body was roughly flipped over and the faceless figure drew a dagger from the holster on Lexa’s thigh.  </p>
<p>“Wait, no! Please, let me do it!” Clarke pleaded when she realized what was about to happen.  “I’ll do it! I’ll keep her safe, please,” she sobbed, throwing herself at the feet of the mysterious form.  It kicked her away, but someone behind her grabbed her shoulders and jerked her roughly up into a kneeling position.  Her captor held her wrists together behind her back and wrapped an arm around her throat.  The more she resisted, the tighter the headlock became. </p>
<p>“Please! Don’t do this!” Clarke screamed as loud as she could, but her voice came out sounding raw and strained.  “Please.”</p>
<p>From her restrained position she saw the dagger slash roughly into the back of Lexa’s neck.  It tore the skin from the base of her skull all the way down her neck, her black blood rushing heavily down the side of her neck and pooling on the ground below.  Her hair was soaked in blood, the ground was soaked in blood, and the scent of blood and death filled the entire room. </p>
<p>Clarke gasped as a sharp pain hit her arm.  The grip on her neck was released and she looked down at her arm to see a large syringe sticking out of it.  She tried to grab it to take it out, but her arms were too heavy.  Everything became too heavy.  With lead pushing down relentless against the lids of her eyes she lifted her chin just enough to see the dark, empty destruction of Becca’s lab.  Laying on the ground a few feet in front of her was the broken, useless helmet of the radiation suit.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>Clarke’s eyes snapped open as she half gasped, half sobbed, trying to get any sort of a breath in any way possible.  Her body was covered in a thick coat of ice cold sweat; her hair was damp, and her clothes clung to her body as though she’d been submerged.  For a moment, she didn’t recognize her surroundings, but as she forced breath after breath, realization crashed over her even colder than the sweat. </p>
<p>She was in the same room as yesterday.  The same spot as yesterday, in the same comfortable bed and uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.  Next to her, Finn was snoring away, completely oblivious to her loud awakening.  She turned her head the other direction to the messy nightstand and saw the clock tauntingly display the early hour of 3:36 AM.  She sat breathing for a moment, fighting off the sick feeling of still being here and not being <i>home. </i></p>
<p>Up until 3:36 AM, Clarke had somehow decided she would wake up to the sight of hand drawn decorations on the wall above her familiar bed, with the soft snores of Madi a few feet away in their little home in Shallow Valley.  It had been the thought that forced her out of the shower the night before; forced her to put on the cleanest sweat pants she could find for bed, guided her through the awkward goodnight to Sam, pushed her to crawl in bed next to Finn, and eventually fall asleep in the unfamiliar environment.  Her guiding light had burnt out, and Clarke was just as lost and alone as she was when she woke up yesterday afternoon.</p>
<p>She pushed the damp covers off her shaky, sweaty body, and stumbled out of bed.  Her dream was still vivid in her mind: it wasn’t unusual for her to dream of Lexa, but the dreams had never before taken such a gory turn.  </p>
<p>She crept quietly across the bedroom to the open bathroom door, shutting it as quietly as possible before she flipped on the light.  She made her way over to the sink and drew in a shaky breath as she turned on the faucet.  Her face was flushed and pale, shiny from the perspiration.  One look at herself had her shutting off the faucet and opting for a total shower.  She peeled the damp clothes from her body with difficulty: her muscles were weak and tired, and she still hadn’t gotten a grip on her shaking limbs.  As she stepped forward to pull back the shower curtain, she felt the familiar slice of metal across skin on the bottom of her foot.</p>
<p>“Ouch!” she startled, immediately drawing her stinging foot away from the floor.  She hopped back on one leg, clutching her foot as tears of pain stung her eyes, more from keeping silent than anything.  The razor she’d grabbed yesterday to defend herself lay innocently on the now dry towel still coating the floor, and she cussed under her breath and hopped over to sit on the edge of the tub.  Once seated, she turned her foot over to assess the damage, and was met with the sight of blood smeared across the bottom of her foot and her hand.  <i>Black blood. </i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Keeping Up Appearances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you everyone for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She stared at her bleeding foot with wide eyes long enough for it to clot and stop bleeding on its own.  Her mind was suddenly awake and alert and processing information quicker than she could think it.  Clarke didn’t carry the scratches on her face from life on the ground; no battle scars from haunted memories, her skin bore no sign of having been immersed in a world-ending level of radiation, yet her blood was still black.  The grotesque scar down her leg, a souvenir from the hack job stitch she’d done to repair the damage her precious child had dealt from the bear trap, was absent.  </p>
<p>This couldn’t be a dream.  Before being on the ground, before knowing Lexa and seeing her bleed, Clarke hadn’t known about nightblood, and she certainly wouldn’t be a nightblood herself had it not been for the sacrifice of Luna and her bone marrow to artificially synthesize the serum she’d administered to herself.  The memory, like all the others Clarke kept playing back in her head and referring to as she desperately searched for an answer or any sort of lead, was clear and precise.  She remembered watching an innocent man die in a failed attempt at the nightblood formula.  She clearly remembered the pounding in her heart as she bore it so Emori didn’t have to, injecting herself with the serum.  She could still hear the crash of the glass as her mother broke the radiation chamber to spare her life, distraught at the idea of killing her daughter for the greater good and survival of humanity.  Six years did nothing to quell the guilt and pain of that day.  It had to have happened.  The evidence had coagulated on the bottom of her foot.</p>
<p>It was almost a relieving thought; all her painful memories, the loss, and grief, were very much real.  The choices she’d made in the name of leadership and for her people didn’t disappear, and they weren’t just a figment of her sleeping imagination. With this door opening, however, Clarke found herself down another hallway with even more closed doors ahead of her, and her current situation made even less sense now. </p>
<p>Clarke shakily stood and began a mental tally of what she knew thus far as she wet a washcloth to wipe the dried blood off her foot. She laid out all the facts and searched for commonality.  Her actual memories were actual memories. Her veins still pumped nightblood through them, yet none of her well-earned scars had followed her on this journey.  The memories of them, yes.  The terrible things she’s done over the years to survive haunt her even in this new life. The memory of killing Finn was just as fresh as the memory of him snoring next to her while he slept.  He had died, been dead for a while, and now that the world had ended and apparently started over, here he was, with no recollection of anything happening at all.  Her mother was here, too.  She was still a doctor, but she’d never been the Chancellor of a small group of people trekking unknown territory.  Abby was more concerned with performing surgeries than worrying about the survival of human kind.  She didn’t remember being in the City of Light and stabbing her own daughter in between her ribs.  She didn’t remember, but Clarke did.  Clarke remembered everything and bore no scars that supported what must look to this simple life as a wild and unbelievable tale. </p>
<p>The prospect of a shower long forgotten, Clarke grabbed a bathrobe hanging from the back of the bathroom door and tied it tightly around her waist and stalked out of the bathroom on a mission.  She didn’t bother tiptoeing around Finn; she didn’t even bother to turn off the bathroom light, and was on the couch in the quiet, dark living room in no time.  </p>
<p>She put her face in her hands and analyzed every possibility her puzzled mind would allow.  She contemplated time travel, reincarnation, being in a coma, and nothing, <i>nothing at all,</i> made an ounce of sense.  She sat in thought until well after the sun had begun to rise, and not even the sound of a 7:00 AM alarm in the background tore her from the rapt attention she paid to everything in her mind.  It wasn’t until a pair of strong, unfamiliar hands found their way to her shoulders and began kneading at them did she tear away from her thoughts and jump.</p>
<p>“What kind of luck is this, I get to see you for two whole days in a row?” Finn said behind her, his voice groggy from sleep.  Clarke noted the slight hurt in his tone, and for a split second she almost felt guilty for her alternate self not paying any attention to her family.  She remembered as a child on the Ark wishing her mother would work less and spend more time with her and her father, and here she was, mimicking the same habits she used to despise.  Clarke nipped that thought in the bud, reasoning with herself that it wasn’t <i>actually</i> her, and she told herself that if she’d done it all consciously on her own, she wouldn’t be that way.  The half-assed unnecessary promise did its job, and Clarke was able to clear her throat and speak in a more concise tone than she’d been able to in what felt like weeks.</p>
<p>“I’m going to take some time off.  Reevaluate my life,” she said simply, forcing her posture straight despite the massage Finn was still gracing her with.  </p>
<p>“Hmm… Interesting time to reevaluate, now that we’re, what, $45,000 away from paying off medical school?” Finn quipped, stopping the massage.  She could sense the slight irritation in his voice, but it wasn’t like he would understand there were more important things going on.  “What did your mom say?  You did tell her, right?”</p>
<p>Clarke sighed and shrugged.  Domestic Doctor Clarke could face the wrath of Abby after Real Clarke had gone back to where she belonged, back to her home, back to her daughter.  Finn groaned at her and she heard him huff off into the kitchen. </p>
<p>“I can already see how this is going to play out, and it ends with her harassing me for you avoiding her,” he called across the room.  She remained silent.  Finn’s griping was starting to piss her off, and she refused to fuel a fire she had no interest in watching burn.  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes in preparation to settle back into her thoughts and work through the more pressing issues, when she felt the couch sink next to her.  She opened one eye and glared at Finn, who’d brought his breakfast to eat right next to her.</p>
<p>He seemed unfazed by her silent treatment and instead reached for the remote on the coffee table, flipping on the TV.  Clarke rolled her eyes and made to get up, but the sound blaring from the suddenly loud news channel rooted her to her spot. Her eyes flashed to the screen and her heart jumped to the back of her throat with the sight.</p>
<p>“-a break in last night at Polaris Tower.  Officials say nothing was missing, only substantial damage on the exterior doors.  Investigations will be-“ The newscaster was cut off by Finn changing the channel.</p>
<p>“Go back!” Clarke immediately demanded.  “Hurry!”</p>
<p>“To the news?” Finn asked in disbelief through a mouth full of cereal.  </p>
<p>“Finn, hurry!” Clarke snapped, leaning forward to the edge of her seat as if her own intensity could change the speed at which Finn moved.  He frowned deeply at her but obliged no less, and Clarke’s attention zoned back to the TV.  </p>
<p>“-have a suspect yet but will be following the case closely.  Investigators assure the public this is an isolated incident and is in no way connected to the suicides off the tower earlier this year.  We have a reporter on the scene, here to give us a closer look is Kate Murphy.”</p>
<p>“Thanks Lucille.  I’m here by Polaris Tower in-“ </p>
<p>“What, did you break into the tower?” Finn laughed, drowning out the rest of Kate’s sentence.  Clarke was glowering, but just stiffened her jaw tighter and kept her eyes glued to the screen.<br/>
“-ensuring the building’s security is Officer Miller.  Do you see a continued threat for Polaris Tower?” Clarke’s mouth went if possible, dryer, as none other than Nathan Miller’s face appeared on the screen.  </p>
<p>“Not at the moment, no, we’ve got guards throughout the vicinity and will keep on a strict 24-hour surveillance until the securities and assets have been repaired and accounted for,” he said professionally, as though he’d been shutting down curious reporters for years.  Her eyes darted wildly across the screen, studying the background now more than listening to Kate drone on about the crime rates in the city.  The tower was upright: it looked new, fresh, but the rounded shape was unmistakably the same.  It was beyond strange to see the tower gleaming with clean windows and new metal, and even stranger to see it in front of a modern city that she was taught was a relic of the past.  </p>
<p>A familiar comfort grew in the pit of Clarke’s stomach as she watched the police taking photos of broken glass and debris on the walkway up to the tower’s entrance.  She had a lead, finally: she had to get to Polis, to this Polaris Tower.  She could go from there, now at least she had something to work with.  Without allowing herself too much time to second guess or over analyze, Clarke turned to look at Finn, who was watching the same newscast with a bored expression.  She had the brief sad thought that Finn had never got to see Polis but shook it away.  He wouldn’t have remembered it if he had. </p>
<p>“So, what are you doing today?” she asked as nonchalant as she could muster as the news report turned into a toothpaste advertisement.  She couldn’t very well walk to the tower by herself: this landscape was entirely different than the ones she’d memorized before and after Praimfaya.  Unfortunately, she needed a guide, and her only option at the moment was scratching his bare stomach and flashing her what she assumed he thought was a sexy look.  Finn looked back at her with an amused, smug expression. </p>
<p>“After I get Sam up, fed, and to school… my schedule is open.” Clarke fought an eye roll at his obvious assumption but mustered up a small smile for him anyway.   </p>
<p>“Feel like a field trip?” she asked, nodding her head toward the TV.</p>
<p>“Don’t tell me: You want to be CSI now?” Finn grumbled aloud as he stood up with his bowl of cereal.  </p>
<p>“Sure, I’ll take you to check out the creepy crime scene that is Polaris Tower.”  Clarke let her shoulders fall as excitement and relief began to spread slowly to her extremities, previously tensed up with confusion and worry.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>Clarke paid rapt attention on the drive to Polis: she wanted to be able to get there again without help from Finn.  She took note of every sign and turn, memorizing the order and scanning for landmarks.  This was all so unfamiliar: skyscrapers took the place of the forest of trees Clarke had learned to navigate through.  The bridges all looked new and in good repair; not the cracked concrete overgrown with moss and vines she had grown accustomed to. There were no seas of sand, no raging storms of glass and wind rolling across the horizon.</p>
<p>Her eyes flashed down to her dad’s watch every few minutes, growing antsier with each glance.  The time never changed.  She could feel Finn’s eyes boring into her from the driver’s seat.<br/>
“You should really watch the road,” she said in a cool tone, refusing to look over to meet his gaze.  The number of vehicles on the road with them was terrifying.  Driving the rover through trees and bushes was fine: the trees and bushes didn’t move and certainly didn’t jump out in front of you with little to no warning.  </p>
<p>“Why are you so anxious?” he asked bluntly, and Clarke shrugged, keeping her eyes on the mile marker signs on the side of the freeway.  Despite her silence, Finn continued.  “Is this about work?”</p>
<p>“No,” Clarke responded, her attention back to her watch.</p>
<p>“Did something happen?  I thought you were in the middle of that 3D printed vein or whatever?”</p>
<p>“Nothing happened, I just needed some – some time.  Away.  To think about it.”  Finn was asking too many questions that Clarke didn’t have the answer to.  If he kept grilling her like this, he was going to catch on.  Something in her tone must have warned Finn because he changed the topic after a moment of tense silence.</p>
<p>“What’s so interesting about a break in anyway?  If you wanted a road trip we could have gone to Ocean City or somewhere fun.”</p>
<p>“How much farther?” Clarke pressed, hoping to diffuse the questions being directed at her.  </p>
<p>“Ten more minutes,” Finn sighed, and he seemed to have given up the interrogation and they spent the rest of the drive in blessed silence.</p>
<p>She saw the tower about three minutes later, and she felt her heartbeat speed up seeing the familiar building in all its glory.  It looked even shinier than it had on the TV, with the sunlight gleaming off the windows and causing her to squint her eyes to continue to take it in.  She never thought she’d see it standing again.</p>
<p>The traffic leading up to the tower was heavy.  It took at least ten more minutes to navigate through the narrow streets lined with vehicles before Finn pulled into a dark covered garage and parked. Eager, Clarke was out the door before Finn even had time to shut off the engine. </p>
<p>“You’re being weird,” Finn stated as they began walking, Clarke having drawn back to follow his lead after she realized she wasn’t entirely sure where to go. </p>
<p>“I’m not,” she defied, praying her alternate self wasn’t too far off from how she understood herself to be.  Driven and motivated had always been qualities Clarke had used to define herself, but she understood why Finn would think it strange for his driven doctor wife to adamantly demand he take her to a tower forty five minutes from their home because they saw it on the morning news. She took a slow, grounding breath.  <i>Reel it in a little.  Don’t blow it. </i></p>
<p>“I’ve known you for what, eight years now?  This is the first time I’m hearing about your fascination with <i>current events</i>,” Finn smirked at her over her shoulder, and Clarke gave him a dry smile before opening her mouth to defend herself, when the bright sunlight both blinded and muted her upon stepping out of the shaded parking garage.  His words were forgotten as she took in her new surroundings.  There was a busy road that Finn turned to walk beside.  Cars sped by in an endless, loud stream and Clarke blinked to help adjust her eyes to the bright.  </p>
<p>She came into step beside Finn as he walked at a leisurely pace, and she couldn’t keep her eyes away from the tower ahead of them.  She could see it from their location, but other buildings blocked the entrance.  The closer they got, the more Clarke could swear she saw fresh versions of familiar, destroyed structures.  </p>
<p>Then, she saw it.  They were directly across the street from the tall circular tower standing in all its glory.  Vehicles marked ‘Police’ were blocking any traffic, foot or car, from getting any closer.  The words “Polaris Tower” were illuminated in sharp black letters above the mangled entryway.  The glass had been shattered and there was a dark blast mark on the surrounding metal and the crack-free cement on the ground in front of the doors.  Debris littered the ground leading up to the entrance, which was currently being swarmed by a mass of armed guards talking amongst themselves.  Yellow tape wrapped off the perimeter of the crime scene, and Clarke’s eyes began studying the scene before her, searching for weakness in their defenses.  Getting in would be difficult.  </p>
<p>“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?” Finn’s voice drew her from her study and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.  </p>
<p>“Is there another way in?” she asked, feeling dejected and nervous her lead was going to turn into a dead end. With immense effort she tore her eyes away from the impermeable blockade to look at Finn.</p>
<p>“Why, Princess?  Need to deposit a check into your private account I don’t know about?” he laughed with minimal humor, and Clarke startled slightly at the old nickname. “I don’t think it’ll be open for a few days.  Don’t tell me we drove all the way out here so you could take care of your secret banking needs.” </p>
<p>Of course, the tower wasn’t the central point in this civilization.  It didn’t house a Heda, it wasn’t the meeting point for clans to hash out issues and declare war.  It was a <i>bank</i>. Clarke couldn’t help but let out a slight disappointed breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.  She’d learned about the Earth’s economy during her schooling on the Ark, but that information had quickly dissipated the moment she realized the Grounders bartered, and to her, a fresh kill had become worth all she needed to get through the next day.  Her eyes trailed once more over the tower, reaching the highest point, and glared into the windows she had more than one memory of standing against, looking out at the forest and ancient destruction that surrounded.  The bombs had never gone off and destroyed its neighboring buildings, all of which still intact and bustling with its original purpose.  Nobody ran through these streets on a conclave driven warpath, and the tower in Polis was a bank called Polaris Tower.</p>
<p>Clarke’s heart sank, and a helpless feeling clawed at her chest.  She wasn’t any closer to getting home to Madi, to saving and protecting her from the trespassers who easily overpowered the two and took over their home, their lives. She felt tears prick the insides of her eyes and rubbed them quickly with one hand.  Desperation told her to storm through the guards, sneak through undetected, do anything that could lead her one step closer to getting back home to her people, her person, but desperation was dangerous and Clarke forced logic to overpower. <i> Don’t do anything stupid.  You can’t help Madi if you’re detained for breaking into a guarded bank. </i></p>
<p>“What’s wrong, Babe?” Finn asked her softly, all prior teasing gone from his tone, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to pull her into his chest.  She allowed it and buried her face in the soft fabric of his T-shirt, breathing in the same clean floral scent of the sheets to calm her nerves.  She allowed herself to be comforted by the strong arms around her, the touch both familiar and foreign.  The heart beating beneath her head was steady and alive.  She sniffed, returning the hug as she shrugged her shoulders. <i> Please, don’t ask me.  I can’t even begin to explain this. </i></p>
<p>This Finn wasn’t so different from the Finn she’d first come to know all those years ago, she realized.  The Finn holding her close to his chest and rubbing her back as she sniffled against his shirt made it easier to look past an entire village massacred and hone in on the reason, because he was <i>looking for her</i>. She hoped this universe wouldn’t ever push this man to those extremes, because something told her deep down, he would do it again.  His voice tore her from her thoughts yet again, perhaps rescuing her from the rabbit hole she was dangerously teetering on the edge of.  He spoke softly, she almost couldn’t hear him through the loud, busy street between them and the crime scene of Polaris Tower.</p>
<p>“C’mon, let’s get some lunch.  We have a few hours before Sam’s out, and it’s been a while since I’ve had my wife to myself.” She pulled away and nodded, wiping snot from her nose with the sleeve of the baggy sweatshirt she’d found on the top of the laundry pile this morning. <i> Pull yourself together now,</i> she chided herself as she took Finn’s outstretched hand and allowed him to lead her back the way they had arrived.  </p>
<p>The casual mention of Sam grounded Clarke: she couldn’t have spent all day here anyway.  Just because she was in a strange place living someone else’s life didn’t mean a little boy shouldn’t get picked up from school, and with the way the cars all roared past the sidewalk she would feel terrible making such a small child brave the dangerous walk home just to arrive at an empty apartment.  It wasn’t his fault his mother was gone and replaced with a woman from a different life, replaced with the Commander of Death herself, who felt like the mother to another child.  Her heart ached at the thought of Madi, and she prayed to a God not so forgiving for help, guidance, anything to no longer be so lost and trapped in a life that wasn’t her own.</p>
<p>The traffic and navigation to their lunch destination was thankfully enough of a distraction that Finn didn’t notice her inner turmoil, and she gladly let him guide the way to a little storefront with a flashing neon sign announcing they were open.  Clarke forced her thoughts to clear, attempted to force away the frustration and irritation that was growing in her bones at being so close, yet so far, to some sort of clue.  She hadn’t any guarantees that Polaris would be a solid answer, but she didn’t have anything better to go on. </p>
<p>Finn ordered for them and Clarke chose a seat, as though this were a practiced routine that would come of being in a committed, eight-year long relationship, and Clarke was grateful for the easy pass at playing along.  Only Clarke had been living in peace for almost six years, an easy life with joy and laughter, and it had dulled her senses, weakened her defenses, and she should really know by now that nothing goes that smoothly, because when Finn sat down, he apparently wanted to <i>talk</i>.</p>
<p>“I can’t remember the last time we did this,” he said cheerfully, softly.  Clarke kept her eyes on the sandwich Finn had brought her, focusing most of her attention on unwrapping it from the paper.</p>
<p>“I can’t, either,” she replied honestly. </p>
<p>“Thanks,” Finn spoke again, after a moment.  She chanced a glance up to find him looking directly at her, vulnerability and trust in his eyes that she recognized from a point in time too long ago and too different from now to make her feel at ease.  “For, you know….” </p>
<p>She didn’t know, not at all, and she couldn’t begin to want to dig up all the history and drama they’d surely shared in their marriage and relationship.  So, she complied,</p>
<p>“Of course,” and gave him a small smile before turning the attention back to her lunch.  “Thanks for, uh, driving me to Polis.  Uh, Polaris,” the gratitude felt weak on her own lips, but she wanted to keep things cordial with him.  He was the only somewhat familiar in a sea of unknown, and though she didn’t know this Finn, didn’t know what he was thanking her for or who he truly was in this reality, his eyes were kind and his worry was genuine, and she felt like a piece of the Finn she knew had to be in there somewhere.</p>
<p>“I still don’t understand why you wanted to go,” Finn chuckled lightly around his food, and Clarke kept her eyes trained on her own studiously, picking off a piece of lettuce.  She gave him a weak smile without meeting his eyes and busied her hands with a napkin.  “Well?” <i>Oh, he was waiting for an answer</i>. She didn’t have one to give him.</p>
<p>“I just thought it was interesting, that’s all.  Not every day you see something like that,” she gave a noncommittal shrug.  Not every day there was a break in at a high security tower like Polaris, coincidentally on the day following Clarke’s rude awakening in a reality that wasn’t her own, but she couldn’t tell him that. </p>
<p>“So this… reevaluation of yours wouldn’t happen to include paid time off, would it?” Finn changed the topic again, apparently satisfied with her answer. Clarke thought she picked up on a slight worried edge in his tone but could only frown in response. </p>
<p>“Yes, I’m sure it will,” she decided on, blood pressure rising slightly as they treaded yet again towards unknown waters.</p>
<p>“You’re not positive?” Finn asked, abandoning his half-eaten sandwich completely.  “Clarke, I don’t know if we can really afford for you to lose your job right now.”</p>
<p>She fought to keep a straight expression as she made a point to take a bite purposely too big to buy herself some time.  She needed to buy a lot more time than a mouthful of bread to get into Polaris, to figure out what she was doing here, but dammit Finn and Sam had tugged on her heartstrings last night and now she felt responsible to take care of some other Clarke’s family.  She swallowed roughly after an awkward pause of her chewing and Finn watching her expectantly, the sandwich hurting as it passed down her throat.  She knew she was pushing it, but she took a long drink from the paper cup with a plastic straw and lid Finn had brought with her sandwich.  The taste caught her entirely off guard, and she half coughed, half choked as the liquid registered in her brain.  It spluttered out of her mouth unattractively, and she coughed until her airways freed up enough for her to rip the lid off the cup.</p>
<p>“What the hell is this?” she gasped without thinking, her voice scratchy from choking.  She began running through the mental catalogue of everything she’d ever drank.  It was brown, sure as hell wasn’t water, and though her experience with alcohol had been limited to old car whisky and Monty’s moonshine, the only burn in her throat was self-inflicted.</p>
<p>“Diet Coke? What, did they give you regular?” Finn asked as he took the cup from her and sampled some of it for himself.  “No, that’s definitely Diet,” he concluded, looking at her as though she’d grown another head as she grabbed some nearby napkins to blot up everything she’d spit out. <i> Dammit</i>. Clarke took a deep breath to collect herself and shot Finn a sheepish look.  He continued to watch her carefully as she slowly took another sip, this time expecting the fizzy sweet mixture.  It wasn’t good, but she fought the grimace. </p>
<p>“Right, sorry,” she said.  She’d never heard of Diet Coke in her life, but if Domestic Doctor Clarke liked it, then she had to as well.  “I wasn’t uh, I swallowed it wrong or something,” she breezed over, suddenly more willing to deal with this family’s financial situation than spend another minute dwelling on the out of character reaction from Finn’s wife.  </p>
<p>“Anyway, I’ll figure it out, okay?  Don’t worry about it.  My mom will probably know about the paid time off… situation at the hospital, I’ll call her later to sort it all out,” Clarke half lied as she piled the wet napkins and the soggy bits of sandwich she couldn’t stomach finishing because they were now saturated in Diet Coke all together in the little basket it came in.  She had no intention of calling Abby, but she did add “find Finn and Sam some money” to the mental list of things she needed to accomplish but had no idea how.  </p>
<p>Finn still looked uncertain, whether it was from her show of spitting out her drink across the table or the family’s impending financial situation, Clarke wasn’t sure.  She watched as he quickly piled up his own trash and grabbed both of their baskets.  </p>
<p>“We can just bring it up tomorrow tonight,” he shrugged, and Clarke arched an eyebrow at him.  What the fuck was that supposed to mean?  She stood and stalked behind him as he carried the baskets to a trash receptacle near the doors.</p>
<p>“Tomorrow night?” she pressed, a sense of dread filling her at the prospect of not only another roadblock to distract her from her goal of getting home, but also seeing her mother in the flesh.  Clarke couldn’t help but feel like Abby would be harder to fool than Finn.  </p>
<p>“Marcus’s birthday?” Finn questioned, but brushed it off, like he’d expected her to forget.  “Don’t worry, I got him a card.”  He took her hand again and she let him pull her from the sandwich shop, completely unaware of the turmoil rising like bile in her stomach, mixing horribly with the sandwich and Diet Coke.  She’d have to make some moves, and quickly.    </p>
<p>“Right,” she muttered more to herself, her mind whirling as she processed the new stream of information from the last half hour.  The day had already been filled with ups and downs and a constant stream of variables shoving themselves into Clarke’s less than thought out plans, and it wasn’t even half over yet.  They walked in silence back towards the parking garage, Clarke stealing a few last looks at the Polaris Tower.  The police still had the entire building blocked off with their cars and yellow tape strung tightly between orange cones.  A few days, Finn had said.  A sick feeling crept in as Clarke dared to hope Madi could last a few days.</p>
<p>They reached the now familiar little black sedan, and Clarke released Finn’s hand to head toward the passenger side, but Finn reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him.  He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she looked up at him, she was close enough to see the clearly the stubble on his chin and jaw. </p>
<p>“This was nice,” he said quietly, and she could smell a lingering scent on his breath from the sandwich he’d had at lunch.  “Spending the day with you.”</p>
<p>Clarke could only nod and offer a closed mouth smile.  She knew what he was going to do before he did it, but it still shocked her when he leaned down and pressed a slightly rough kiss to her lips.  It had been such a long time since she’d kissed anyone, the feeling itself was unnatural, and it didn’t help that she couldn’t grasp deep enough into the banks of her memories to tell if his lips felt the same as they did when they were seventeen in a dark little underground bunker, on the single night they’d spent together before she’d been hurt and hardened and he’d been grasping for more than she could give.  A little flip in the pit of her stomach told her their current situation, while in a different time and a different place, wasn’t so far off from how it had happened all those years ago.  </p>
<p>Clarke pressed back to him just enough, enough to say “I’m sorry for what happened to you,” enough to tell him without telling him that she wished it could have been different, not only for him but for everyone, before she put a hand on his chest to gently push him away.  Her heart burned for the boy ready to die for the things he’d done in the name of love, and for the man before her who didn’t know his wife wasn’t who he thought she was.  </p>
<p>She gave him a small smile, which he returned, before gently untangling herself from his hold.  She wanted to say something, anything, but words were failing her and anything she needed to say to her Finn wouldn’t mean anything to this Finn, so she let the silence rest between them as Finn started up the car and they began the drive back, putting more and more distance between Clarke and where she felt she needed to be.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>When Finn asked her to join him again to pick up Sam and stop by the store for something to make for dinner, Clarke told him she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to lie down before spending the evening with him and Sam.  Perhaps it was the promise of another family evening, or perhaps he could see the shards of truth she’d woven into her excuse: the best lies were always mostly true, after all.  She was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and the tension in her neck was winding tighter and tighter with each minute she spent away from her daughter, from defending their home.  He dropped her off at the sidewalk next to the Mount Weather Exit Door, and only seemed a little annoyed when she told him she needed to borrow the key.</p>
<p>Clarke gave a small wave as he drove away, and as soon as he merged onto the busy road neighboring the apartment building, Clarke pushed through the door and bounded up the two flights of stairs with renewed energy.  She’d bought herself some time to think without having to keep up the charade of Wife Clarke, which was starting to become complicated and required a lot more focus than she had originally anticipated. </p>
<p>Alone at last, Clarke flipped the lock shut and shoved Finn’s key into her pocket.  Warning system in place, she set off down the hall to the bedroom at the end.  The pile of clothes on the floor was slightly larger than the day before, but other than that everything seemed to be in the same order as it had upon first waking up in this nightmare: chaotic disarray.  There weren’t many personal touches around the room: no pictures on the wall to offset the bland color scheme.  It looked like everyone’s quarters on the ark: gray.  A small 4”x6” photo of a grinning Sam sat framed on the dresser next to a bottle of Finn’s cologne and a brochure for the Smithsonian National Zoo, in Washington DC.  She walked completely past the side of the room she now knew to belong to Finn and headed over to her own nightstand, the one with the bright clock where she’d found her father’s watch.  </p>
<p>Clarke scooped the coins into her hand and flipped them over in her palm, noting the markings and differences.  “Currency,” she muttered, vaguely recalling an old photograph from her Earth History class.  If memory served, they were worth next to nothing once they entered circulation.  She classified them unimportant and dropped them back on the surface.  She pulled open the top drawer and groaned at the disarray.  Wife Doctor Clarke, she was sure of it, knew exactly what was in there and exactly where in the mess it was, because she was the same way about her own possessions. Real Clarke had no choice but to start taking things out one by one.  A heavy hardbound book titled, “Human Molecular Genetics Edition IV” hit the floor first, followed quickly by a tube of lotion and a bottle of acetaminophen.  There were several thin papers of various sizes that upon further study turned out to be receipts of items purchased, ranging from the medical book at the bottom of the junk pile to toy stores, obviously gifts for Sam.  </p>
<p>“Why the hell do you keep so much junk,” she groaned as she fished out a handful of hair ties and paper clips, as well as more currency: the slightly more valuable one-dollar bill.  A pair of scissors, a tube of lip balm, six pens, and a stray sock joined the pile at her knees.  Underneath the garbage, Clarke saw the first beacon of hope in the form of three spiral bound notebooks at the very bottom of the drawer.  She all but ripped them out and gave them a quick once over with eager eyes.  The pages showed promising signs of use: curling at the edges, some folded cleanly and some that were all crushed together from the weight of the junk and medical book.  She flipped the first open and scanned the pages, her heart sinking slightly at the sight of medical notes studiously taken.  Page after page was filled with highlighted words and stars next to important pieces of information, the handwriting identical to her own down to the punctuation marks.  She dumped that on the pile and moved to the next.<br/>

This one was not much better, though it did offer a little bit of insight into this other Clarke’s life: her to-do lists.  This notebook had seen less use than the previous, though it looked like her alternate self at least put a valiant effort towards accomplishing things outside her career: do laundry, get the oil changed, clean the bathroom.  Mundane tasks filled up about half the notebook and seem to only have roughly a twenty-five percent completion rate.  Clarke flipped to the last entry, no date offered other than “Sunday,” where this Clarke had set out to take Sam to the park and do the dishes.  </p>
<p>The third notebook had evidence of pages ripped out, and the ones remaining were all blank.  Growing frustrated, Clarke gathered the mess and dumped it all back into the top drawer.  “Please, please, have something,” she asked aloud as she pulled open the bottom drawer.  Bingo.  There were only three items in this drawer, and with shaking hands Clarke pulled out the small leather-bound journal tied shut with a fine purple ribbon.  She delicately untied the knot and opened to the first entry.</p>
<p>
  <i>Mom got me this as a graduation present.  She said she kept one in college and it was very “grounding” to go back and look over all the troubles she used to have.  She also said it would only work if I actually used it.  </i>
</p>
<p>Clarke frowned and flipped through a few pages.  All were short entries, and a quick skim through was all it took to tell Past Doctor Clarke wrote minimally about trivial things.  Real Clarke couldn’t blame her: she’d never been able to trap her thoughts in writing, either. An awkward date, staying up too late and missing a morning class, and there was even a short entry about an obnoxious guy named Finn who called her “Princess,” and how much it annoyed her.  The next was about her mother’s new boyfriend, Marcus Kane, and how Clarke was expected to spend her entire winter break from school visiting his family’s cabin in the Shenandoah mountains.  Clarke trailed trembling fingers over that page as the faded message beneath the Louwoda Kliron Kru symbol filled her mind.  Had she felt anything, she wondered, being in a place so treasured by herself in a different life?  </p>
<p>Clarke lingered on the phrase for only a moment longer before flipping the page.  It held the longest entry yet. </p>
<p>
  <i>Well, Finn got me pregnant.  I can’t believe I was so stupid to let this happen.  I have three more years of school, at least.  He’s super excited and wants to get married.  I think he just wants a reason to drop out.  I told him I didn’t know if I wanted to keep it and that made him angry.  Wells was no help when I told him.  He’s too supportive for his own good and promised to take extra good notes if I had to puke during class.  My mother is going to kill me, and thanks to Marcus, she has a perfectly secluded area to hide my body.</i>
</p>
<p>Clarke smiled to herself at the thought of her and Wells together in medical school.  Across time, Wells was a good friend and it comforted her to know that although this world was delusional and frivolous, at least Doctor Clarke had had Wells.  She flipped across a few entries complaining about being pregnant, about Finn being overbearing, the intensity of medical school.  While interesting, none of this information was particularly pertinent to her cause.  The last entry was from before Sam had been born, a short complaint about not being able to drink at her own bachelorette party, and Clarke closed the book with a huff.  She tossed it on the floor and turned her focus to the drawer again.</p>
<p>Beneath the journal was a small photograph in an old frame, the smile beaming up at her identical to her own most precious memories.  It was a picture of her and her father, his arm was wrapped around her and they were standing in front of a large body of water, both sunburnt and happy.  Tears pricked her eyes without her consent as she carefully picked up the frame, studying the features of Jake Griffin.  He looked exactly how she remembered him and judging by the way she looked in the picture, he was probably around the same age he was when he died.  His blue eyes shone with laughter and stood out against the red of his cheeks, made to look even brighter by the blue T shirt he was wearing.  It looked odd to see him in clothes that weren’t falling apart at the seams, but he looked good.  Wait… she rubbed the glass of the frame with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, but the picture didn’t change.  The symbol of the commanders stared up at her from her dad’s shirt in the picture.  She flipped the frame over and popped open the back to slide the picture out. </p>
<p><i>Jake and Clarke, Virginia Beach</i> was scrawled out in her mother’s handwriting, but nothing else.  She flipped the picture back over.  There were no words or phrases on the shirt, just the familiar infinity symbol that haunted both her nightmares and some of her favorite memories.  She set the photo safely on the bed and deposited the frame to the pile on the floor and reached for the last item in the drawer, her head thrumming with possibilities.  </p>
<p>It was a sketchbook.  As soon as Clarke opened to the first page, she knew this was where she’d find an answer to what was really going on in Doctor Clarke’s mind.  If she didn’t know better, she’d think this was her own sketchbook back home.  Hands, eyes, feet, arms, and legs scattered several pages, some crossed out and some more detailed than others.  She flipped through more leisurely than the notebooks and the journals, taking the time to appreciate the world through this other Clarke’s eyes.  A city skyline, the sunset dancing across waves.  There were even a few sketches of Finn standing against a tree that could have come from her own memories.  </p>
<p>A sketch of a young girl had Clarke’s heart jumping right out of her skin.  Her brown hair was wild as she stood on a rock in a lake, the smirk on her mouth too familiar, the eyes lit with a mischief that looked exactly like-</p>
<p>“Feeling better?” A voice startled her, and she jumped about a foot in the air, dropping the sketchbook and clutching her chest. </p>
<p>“What the hell, Finn? You can’t sneak up on a person like that!” she scolded with a glare as he held his hands up in mock surrender.  “How did you get in? I thought I locked the door.”  She’d been trying to avoid this exact situation.</p>
<p>“And I thought you’d be resting, so I used the spare from Sam’s backpack.  What’re you looking at?” he took a seat on the bed dangerously close to the picture of her father, and Clarke fought the overwhelming urge to hide the sketchbook.  It wasn’t hers, but it felt private.  That last drawing, the girl… the girl looked exactly like Madi, and she didn’t want this Finn to know her.  She wanted to take it into a quiet room and look at her face and miss her and contemplate why this Clarke was drawing pictures of her Madi.</p>
<p>“Just going through some things,” she cleared her throat, trying to appear nonchalant.  The charade was back on. </p>
<p>“I haven’t seen this in forever,” Finn mused, apparently ignoring her as he leaned over and picked up her sketchbook, still open to the page of Madi.  He looked at the picture fondly, his crooked boyish smile on his lips as he flipped over to pages Clarke hadn’t seen yet.  “You were so sure we were going to have a girl,” he chuckled, and Clarke leaned forward to catch a glimpse of all the pages he was flipping through faster than she would have.  They all looked like Madi.  </p>
<p>She wanted to press him for information. <i> I was?  Why?  What did I say? </i>  She couldn’t do that.  She was confined to this prison of who everyone else thought she was.  The drawings must have been old, from before Sam was born.  Clarke could almost see herself, imagining her child and sketching every thought that came to mind.  <i>Was it all coincidental? </i> Eventually, the drawings of the girl who looked eerily similar to her found daughter back home turned into drawings of a baby with a wide, toothless smile, and she felt like time was passing before her eyes as Finn flipped through the pages.  Sam grew up through the drawings, his hair getting longer and falling into his eyes, his features taking more shape as he changed into the little boy she could hear playing down the hall.  </p>
<p>All too soon, Finn reached the last drawing and shut the book, looking up at her with a smile.  “I still think you should have been an artist.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” she responded, unsure of what to make of that.  She gently took the book he offered and placed it carefully back in the bottom drawer.  </p>
<p>“Anyway, your mom called while we were at the store,” Finn said, almost reluctantly.  Clarke groaned out loud and Finn continued on, “That was my reaction, too. She sounded mad.  Well, madder than usual. She said she needs you to go see her at the hospital.  <i>Immediately</i>,” he dramatically drawled, rolling his eyes back into his head.  Clarke sighed and rubbed her forehead, trying to spin this in any way that could avoid that.  </p>
<p>“What did I tell you?  You avoid her, she calls me.  Just get it over with and dinner will be ready by the time you get home,” Finn sounded a little annoyed, probably put off that Clarke was getting dragged away by work again.  He stood up from the bed and Clarke scrambled to her feet.  Get it over with, easier said than done when she doesn’t even know how to get to the damn hospital.  </p>
<p>“Let me borrow your phone.  I’ll call her back,” Clarke suggested, grabbing the picture of her and her father as Finn reached the doorway.  She hated to desecrate such a nicely preserved photo, but she needed it.  Not only was it the keepsake she had always wished she had of her dad, but the symbol of the commander on his shirt couldn’t be a coincidence.  She followed Finn until he reached the kitchen where his phone was attached to a cord, plugged into the wall.  Charging.  </p>
<p>“Please don’t get fired, Clarke,” he sighed as he unplugged the device to hand to her.  She fought an eye roll and muttered her thanks.  </p>
<p>“I’m going to… take this outside,” she drawled, not eager to have Finn witness what was sure to be a struggle in operation of the small tablet.  He only nodded and busied himself with prepping dinner, and Clarke hurried out the door and back through the Mount Weather doors.  Once outside, she found a spot of shade and leaned against the building.  The phone seemed simple enough: she pressed a few of the buttons on the side and slid her finger around the screen until it changed from a tropical vista scene to a photo of Sam dressed up like the law enforcement guards she saw on the TV and out in front of the Polis tower.  </p>
<p>She tried to mimic what she’d seen Finn do the few times he operated the device, but it was a little more complex than the walkie talkies she was used to.  Hold the button, talk.  If someone was listening and they could respond, they would.  This seemed like it required a little more involvement from both parties.  There, Abby Griffin.  Clarke tapped on her mother’s name and tapped each little icon until the screen changed to read “Dialing Abby Griffin.”</p>
<p>“Shit,” she muttered, not at all ready for this as she put the phone up to her ear.  “Hello? Mom?” she said, but an obnoxious tone interrupted.  “How the hell is this thing supposed to work?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Finn?” Abby’s voice sounded from the tiny speaker, and Clarke nearly dropped the phone in surprise.</p>
<p>“Mom, it’s me.  Clarke,” she spoke into the phone, nerves pounding.  How she wished it were her real mother on the other end of the line.</p>
<p>“Clarke, did Finn tell you I need you to come in?”  Right to business, ever the efficient woman.</p>
<p>“Yes, and I called to tell you I wasn’t going to,” Clarke explained.  She knew this was going to piss Abby off.  She knew this behavior was bad.  She wasn’t born yesterday, and she’d seen what happened to people who tried to skive off work detail without a legitimate reason.  She had a legitimate reason; she just couldn’t tell anybody about it.  For Madi, the mantra that pushed her through navigating all these uncomfortable situations.  For Madi, Clarke would face her mother’s wrath a thousand times over.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” Had she rendered Abby speechless?</p>
<p>“Look, Mom, I’ve got something going on right now.  I can’t – I can’t really talk about it, not yet, but it requires my full attention.  I can’t keep being pulled away by calls from you demanding my presence!” If she ever had the opportunity to come clean, she would.  </p>
<p>“You had better tell me and you better make it fast.  What’s so important that you throw away everything you’ve been working for?  I’m honestly shocked that you’re being so blasé and irresponsible about potentially losing--,” and off Abby went.  Clarke bit her lip and looked to the sky to keep from responding.  She’d expected this, but that didn’t make it easy to hold her tongue.  With only a slightly audible huff, she pushed herself off the wall and paced towards where all the cars were parked.  The air was cool now that the sun was setting, and she focused on counting her steps as Abby ranted in her ear.</p>
<p>Clarke looked down the rows of cars parked in the lot: it was a lot fuller now than she’d ever seen it, all the neighbors having returned home from work for the evening.  A shadow danced across her peripheral vision, and her head snapped over in the direction of the movement.  A figure in a hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled tight over their head was crouched down by the rear bumper of one of the cars… wait, no, that was Finn’s car!</p>
<p>“Mom, I’m sorry.  I really am, just please trust me that this is important.  I have to go,” and she clumsily pushed the red button that said: “End Call,” her attention never fully leaving the figure.  They seemed to be looking at the identification plate on the back of the car, touching the mixture of letters and numbers embossed on the dirty metal.  Clarke crept as close as she dared, as quietly as she could.  There was something about the posture of this stranger that had her heart clenching and palpitating all at once.  The hooded figure went still, and so did Clarke, as the roar of an approaching engine cut through the quiet of the evening.  Clarke took a step back as a large red truck plowed through the parking lot and passed directly in front of Clarke, blocking the stranger from her line of sight.  It couldn’t have been for more than two seconds, but when the bed of the truck cleared Clarke’s vision, the figure was gone.  </p>
<p>Clarke hurried toward the car as she desperately scanned the road behind for any sign of movement.  There.  She took off at a run after a shadow that crossed the road and ducked out of sight.  “Hey!” she called, her voice already scratchy and weak from the sudden sprint.  “Wait!”</p>
<p>It was useless.  The figure was gone, and Clarke found herself alone in an exit-less alley across the street from the apartment building.  She winced and clutched a stitch in her side, breathing heavily.  Eventually, she shook her head and turned back to return home.  With everything that’s happened the past two days, it couldn’t be that far off to assume that now she was seeing things.  The Fearless Wanheda: Insane and Delusional.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Second Chance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The small family sat down to eat the dinner Finn prepared shortly after Clarke returned from the phone call with her mother.  She’d stayed outside a while, wandering back slowly from the brief chase across the road to catch her breath and collect her thoughts.  While still unfamiliar with the societal norms in this world, Clarke was pretty sure it was weird to find someone loitering around a personal vehicle: why Finn’s car?  There were at least fifty others in the parking lot, some of them a lot nicer if burglary had been the goal.  What was the draw to Finn’s little black sedan with chipped paint and a crack on the rear windshield?  Clarke had stopped to study the same spot for herself, to retrace the same beveled edges the mysterious stranger had traced, hoping for an ounce of insight.  </p><p>The meal was good: a seared meat and mashed potatoes, paired with roasted vegetables that Sam was refusing to eat.  While she found she did miss the smoky flavor of meat cooked over an open fire, she couldn’t deny that everything off the Ark had more flavor, and Clarke couldn’t ignore the convenience of not having to delegate hunting parties to make sure there was something for dinner.  She hadn’t spoken of her conversation with her mother, and Finn hadn’t asked.  He seemed grumpy, and Clarke was reluctant to potentially worsen his mood.  So, she enjoyed her meal in silence, thoughts entirely consumed by the new information of the evening.</p><p>“Daddy, look!”</p><p>“Sam, stop.  Don’t play with your food,” Finn grumbled.  Sam had fashioned himself a mashed potato moustache, and Clarke took a large swig of her water to hide her smile when Finn looked up at her.  </p><p>The plates were slowly (mostly) cleared, and Finn stood to collect them.  Clarke reached out to gently touch his forearm, raising an eyebrow at the sullen look he shot her.  </p><p>“I’ll get them.  You get that,” she nudged her head in Sam’s direction.</p><p>“Gee, thanks.  Okay, come on.  I’m going to dunk your head in the toilet.”</p><p>Sam’s shrieks followed the duo down the hallway as Clarke methodically collected the dishes and took them to the sink.  Her thoughts wandered to happier times, to teaching Madi how to clean after dinner and using the skill as a bargaining chip whenever Madi had wanted something.  God, she missed her.  Clarke let herself dwell as she scrubbed each plate clean and laid them on the rack to dry.</p><p>It was only after Sam had been bathed, clothed, read three bedtime stories, and kissed goodnight by both parents did Clarke broach Finn.  His mood seemed to have leveled out since dinner, so when she found him on the sofa watching a soccer match on TV, she joined him.  Had he not lifted his arm and draped it over her shoulder, she might have thought he didn’t notice her at all with the way his eyes darted across the screen as he kept keen focus on the ball.  </p><p>“I saw someone hanging around your car,” she said, following his lead and keeping her eyes on the screen.  It reminded her of matches she used to watch with her dad and the Jahas.  Jake would’ve loved to see a live match.  She’d never actually seen one being played before, but unfortunately it was overshadowed by the experience that had been plaguing her thoughts all evening.<br/>
“Hmm?” </p><p>“Your car.  Someone was looking at it, out in the parking lot.  That’s weird, right?” </p><p>“I guess so.  Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will steal it,” Finn still seemed distracted, or maybe he was used to people invading his personal property.</p><p>“How is that lucky?” She felt him shrug around her shoulders.</p><p>“Maybe we’d get a decent payout,” he mumbled.  Clarke frowned.</p><p>“I don’t believe in luck.  Anyway, they ran off when a truck pulled in and then just – I don’t know, disappeared?  I chased them to that alley across the street and it was just like they vanished out of thin air.  That’s strange, right?”  That got his attention.</p><p>“You what?” he snapped, turning to look at her with wide eyes for the first time since she’d sat down.</p><p>“I couldn’t find where they’d gone!”</p><p>“Why the hell would you chase them?  Let them break into the damn car, what if they had a gun?” he seemed seething with a strange blend of concern and anger, and Clarke swallowed the emotion the look in his eyes reminded her of. </p><p>“That only works if they’re willing to shoot,” she scoffed.  True, that thought hadn’t occurred to her, though she hadn’t seen anyone armed aside from the guards outside the Polis tower since she’d arrived in this strange reality, so why would it?  Besides, she’d had plenty of guns pointed at her and was still alive.  Probably.</p><p>“Dammit Clarke, this isn’t a joke.  Why are you being so… reckless?”</p><p>“How is investigating someone loitering your personal property considered reckless?  If anything, it’s the responsible thing to do,” she argued back, and Finn pulled his arm off her shoulders to run his hands through his hair, beside himself with agitation.  </p><p>“You’re a doctor, you see people who get shot!  Are you going through some sort of crisis?”</p><p>“Getting shot is not a death sentence,” she snapped, crossing her arms across her chest.  Not a death sentence, <i>usually</i>.  This conversation had taken a turn in the entire wrong direction than she intended, and she realized it was because this Finn wasn’t her Finn.  Her Finn would have wanted to go help her figure this out.  But her Finn was dead, she’d killed him a long, long time ago, and the man in front of her had been sheltered from the gore and horror of war, and the lengths that sometimes had to be gone to in order to protect his own.  He didn’t go asking for trouble: he stayed at home and took care of his son and cooked dinner for his family.  Other Clarke probably didn’t get involved in strange goings on, either.  She wasn’t reckless enough to chase after a stranger.  This society clearly didn’t operate that way.  Clarke’s glare softened at that, and she sighed and put her hand on the knee of the agitated man beside her. </p><p>“Look, I’m sorry.  I just… wanted to know if people usually hung around your car.  I didn’t mean to pick a fight.”  No, she did not.  She’d meant to get a little bit of insight on the suspicious activity in the parking lot, but instead got Finn on her case.  Finn didn’t seem to accept her apology, his eyes now unmoving and unseeing as he gazed at the screen.  “You were right to worry, I’m – I’ll be more careful.”</p><p>“Please do.  I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he said quietly after a moment, turning to look at her as he wrapped his arm back around her shoulders. Clarke’s forced smile felt a lot more like a grimace because she knew exactly what he’d do if he lost her.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>Clarke had planned to wait until Finn fell asleep so she could have a second look at the sketchbook in peace, but the exhaustion of the past couple days had crept up on her and, unwillingly, she was out before she heard Finn’s snores.  Her mind was too tired to even dream because the next thing she knew, Finn’s 7:00 AM alarm was blaring, and he was grumbling.  She kept still as she felt the bed shift with Finn’s weight leaving the mattress and rolled over onto her back when she heard him in the bathroom.  For the first time in what felt like years, she allowed herself to stretch her arms and toes and feel comfortable in the plush bed.  The sheets were infinitely better than the scratchy, worn, threadbare ones she grew up with on the Ark, and the linen comforter was cooler and lighter than the heavy, itchy furs she’d experienced in her time on the ground.  In her groggy, half-asleep state, it was easy to just be.</p><p>Sleep tugged once more at Clarke as she laid in the bed, vaguely registering the toilet flush and the sounds of Finn moving to go wake Sam up.  She told herself she’d rest until he left, then she’d pull out the sketchbook, but the draw was too strong, and she far too weak to try to fight the lulling comfort that enveloped her body as she drifted off again.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>Clarke’s hand shook as she pointed the gun at Dante.  Her finger rested comfortably on the trigger, but she felt like the bone in her arm would crack from trying to hold it steady.  Dante looked at her with pleading eyes, but her eyes were glued to the tendon in her arm, becoming prominent as she pulled the trigger.  She was deaf to the sound of the bullet, but she felt his body hit the ground.  The waves of impact rumbled through the floor, and she watched it ripple toward her.  She couldn’t get away in time; she was knocked over by the rolling waves.  Lying prone, she was face to face with the cold, dead eyes of Dante Wallace, blood pooling slowly from his pale lips.  </p><p>She struggled to stand, but the rippling floor beneath her would not permit.  She could still feel the heaviness of the gun in her hand, and the heaviness spread up her arm, through her shoulders and down her back.  It rolled over her entire body until she heard, at the same time, a drill and a blood-curdling scream.  She dropped the gun to cover her ears, but it didn’t muffle the sound.  If anything, it made it louder.  The ground quaking relentlessly beneath her coupled with the torturous scream overloaded her senses.  </p><p>Mustering every last ounce of strength, she forced herself to kneel, then to get up to her feet.  The swaying room and the scream made her dizzy and clouded her focus.  She stumbled over Dante’s dead body and her shoulder collided with a cold metal wall.  She used it for support, bracing herself with both hands as she trudged onward, following the screams.  </p><p>They led her down a winding hall she didn’t recognize from Mount Weather, but instead from a past life, in space.  She was able to run now, her feet guiding her down the metallic passageways of The Ark.  The screams grew louder and more pained the closer she got.  She swung into the medical wing, her hands instinctively clasped around her ears.  All the curtains were drawn around the beds, and Clarke took a deep breath that stabbed her lungs as she lunged toward the first one, releasing one ear to push aside the curtain to reveal an empty bed.  The scream was inside her head now, impossibly loud and pounding against the backs of her eyes.  She pushed aside curtain after curtain, knocking over IV drips with her careless plundering.  Empty bed after empty bed, Clarke roared with anger and ripped open the last curtain, tearing it from the metal rail that ran along the wall.  The metal fasteners hit her in the face, but she felt nothing, as she was met with the most grotesque sight she’s ever seen. </p><p>“No,” she mouthed, her voice still not working.  “No!” she tried to scream.  Her father was strapped down to the bed, and Cage Wallace stood above him, grinning maniacally as he revved the drill.  The screaming stopped and all she could hear was the cruel hum of the drill.  She surged forward to stop him but was too late.  Cage revved the drill and pushed it directly into her father’s stomach, his blood and guts spewing out.  She saw him struggle against the restraints, but Cage pushed the drill even further into Jake Griffin’s abdomen, and Clarke watched, mortified, as his body went limp. </p><p>She felt warm specks of blood splash against her skin, her body immobilized by the sight before her.  Cage pulled the drill back and started again in her father’s chest, and her own chest burned in anguish as she heard his sternum crack under the pressure.  Her eyes were glued open, glued to the scene in front of her.  Her father’s face grew more and more pale, and Cage’s grin grew wider and wider.  He looked up from his work and the look in his eyes made Clarke’s stomach lurch.  </p><p>“Get ready, Clarke.  She’s next,” </p><p>A rage filled her soul as Madi stepped out from behind Cage, her hands bound, and a gag tied around her mouth.  Tears were streaming down her face and she whimpered.  Clarke saw red, and as though her own fury materialized the gun, cold metal weighed her left hand down again. Her body acted on its own, pure muscle memory.  A surprisingly steady arm rose slowly, cocking the gun as she took her aim right at the center of Cage’s forehead.  Cage only laughed, the sound threating to burst Clarke’s eardrums.  It grew louder and wilder until she couldn’t stand it anymore.</p><p>Clarke pulled the trigger, but instead of the boom and kick of the gun that she’d been preparing for, a sickening whirr sounded, and her feet were carrying her forward, toward where Cage stood between a trembling Madi and her father’s pale, lifeless body.  She felt the pressure of the drill, but Cage’s smile only widened.  Then came the sickening crack of bone, and Madi’s pained scream, as she felt the resistance of the drill meeting bone all the way up her arm and into the deepest cavity of her chest.  She had no control over her arm, it pushed and pushed on its own accord as tears rolled down her face, Cage’s laughter roaring louder and louder until –</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>Clarke shot up to a sitting position in bed so quickly that she became lightheaded.  Her breaths were coming in sharp and ragged. She closed her eyes and ran a pair of shaking, clammy hands down her face.  She tried in vain to count her breaths, to steady her breathing, but when the grotesque visual of the dream surfaced in her mind’s eye, her stomach churned in a sickening way and she bolted off the bed and into the bathroom.</p><p>She barely made it in time before retching violently into the toilet until her stomach nearly collapsed in on itself.  She gasped for air, squeezing her stinging eyes shut as she leaned her head against the back end of the toilet bowl; the unsanitary porcelain was supporting her entire weight.  She shuddered as the air met her sweat-slicked skin, and forced her weak, aching neck up and away from the toilet.  She clamped her lips shut tight, willing herself not to throw up again and closing her eyes against the spinning room around her.  </p><p><i>Just a dream</i>. She told herself, channeling her sole focus into breathing.  In slow, out slower.  She blindly swung her arm of lead up and felt around sloppily until she found the knob to flush the toilet, before using the sturdiness of it to hoist herself into a shaky, standing position.  She stumbled over to the sink and flipped on the water as hard as it could go, mercilessly splashing the lukewarm liquid onto her face.  Wincing at the taste in her mouth, she rinsed it out the best she could with the water before taking three long, careful gulps.  Eyes still shut tight, she shut off the faucet and leaned against the counter on her elbows, burying her face in her hands and rubbing at her closed eyes.  </p><p>After several minutes, she finally felt her stomach settle, and made her way weakly back into the bedroom.  The room was dim, the curtains drawn properly shut for the first time since she’d been here. The digital clock next to her bed proudly shone 8:37 AM.  She could see the corner of the sketchbook peeking out from underneath the bed, partially obstructed by the blankets Clarke had thrown off herself in her haste.  She dropped to her knees and ignored the sharp pain that shot up on impact and grabbed the book, hastily flipping through until she saw the smiling face of the little girl with wild brown hair.  Still smiling, the same exact way she had been staring up at her the previous day.  Clarke brought the book up to her chest and let out a dry sob, hugging the drawing tighter against her as her lungs heaved and her back shook with her cries.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>
  <b>Three years earlier</b>
</p><p>Three years.  Three years Lexa had been living a life of peace.  A strange, mundane sort of peace, but peace, nonetheless.  Three years with no attempts on her life, no death, no murder, and no war.  She sighed and took off her eyeglasses, rubbing the tired eyes beneath that throbbed and protested the reopening of every blink.  The fluorescent glare from the too-bright desk lamp wasn’t doing her any favors.  Stacks of old newspapers littered the desk she sat at in the still quiet of the living room in the small house she’d called home for the past three years.  It was nicer than where she’d lived as a child, but each day her heart ached for the large room littered with the soft light of candles and the cool breeze flowing from the open balcony door.  A sliding glass door opened the home up to a small back porch with a little, fenced in yard, the fence short enough that she could see fully into the neighboring yards on all three sides of the squared area.  She liked to leave the door halfway opened on balmy evenings such as this, but in the middle of a heavily populated and paved neighborhood, the whistle of the wind was replaced by the sounds of car doors shutting, shoes shuffling, and the neighbor’s cat pushing through the vertical blinds to come in and make himself at home on her couch.</p><p>The sharp ring of her phone startled her and disassembled the disjointed thoughts strumming aimlessly through her head.  It was so much harder to focus than it used to be.  She put the reading glasses back on and glanced at the screen.  It was unusually late to be receiving a social call, especially because the caller wasn’t known to “chat.”</p><p>“Anya,” she said in greeting, the tiredness she felt down to her bones hidden deeply beneath the businesslike tone she used.</p><p>“Lexa.  I found that girl you were asking me about.” Anya’s tone was as brisk as ever, but it still saddened Lexa each time they privately conversed.  They’d never used <i>gonasleng</i> when it was just the two of them.  The typical melancholy feeling didn’t have a chance to bloom, however, at Anya’s unexpected correspondence at 11:30 at night and the news she brought with it.  She’d found her, <i>finally</i>.  Lexa sat up straighter and startled the cat, Roscoe, who’d meandered over to the desk to rub against Lexa’s leg.  </p><p>“Where is she?”</p><p>“She’s a doctor at Arkadia Memorial.  She’s new, fresh out of school from DC.  Her name isn’t Griffin, though, it’s Collins-Griffin.”  Lexa’s throat bobbed as she swallowed and processed the information as quickly as her weary mind would allow.  The name sounded familiar, but so many new facts merging with old left her not quite as sharp as she preferred to be.  She grabbed a pen and fumbled it upright, aggressively clicking the top until the ball point popped out and jotted the name down, along with the hospital name, the irony far from lost on her.</p><p>“You are certain it’s her?” Lexa pressed into the phone, lowering her voice with a glance toward the closed door next to the television.  No light filtered through the cracks between the hinges or at the bottom of the wood, but she kept her eyes sharp for any subtle changes. </p><p>“Girl named Clarke, last name kind of Griffin. Blonde, blue eyes, but you forgot to include kind of a bitch,” Anya drawled on the other end of the line.  In the background Lexa could hear her opening her car door, shuffling sounds as she got out, and the now familiar metal thud of the door being shut with more force than necessary.</p><p>A small smile quirked the corners of Lexa’s lips.  “Some could argue the same about you, my<i> fos</i>.”</p><p>“Whatever.  Spare me your gibberish, it’s been a long night.  Do I get a little bit of insight into this?”</p><p>“No.” </p><p>Anya huffed on the other end of the phone in response, but she would acquiesce.  She always did.</p><p>“All right, I’m going to bed.  Good luck with your stalking.” Anya hung up without waiting for a response.  </p><p>Anya’s emergence into her new life had been as inevitable as it had the first time around.  A strongarm police officer who specialized, strangely enough, in missing persons cases, Anya had been there to witness the beginning of her journey, both in her first life and in this, grounding her and teaching her how to exist in both worlds.  <i>She’d always been an excellent tracker</i>, Lexa had thought when she’d found out, pride swelling in her at the knowledge of her friend still utilizing the natural talents she’d always possessed.  In addition to pride, she’d been immensely relieved to find the familiar face of one of her dearest, most trusted friends, to have her guidance again through this strange new existence.  The loss of Anya had been one of the heaviest ones Lexa had carried, and while she wasn’t able to have her again in the same capacity, she cherished every moment she was graced with.</p><p>Lexa let out a low breath and stared at the name scrawled above a headline from five years ago about the city’s slow transition into solar energy for big businesses.  It was the first lead she’d had on where Clarke could be, and Lexa was terrified to follow it.  Her desperation to find the girl who fell from the sky and burned 300 of her warriors had been almost unbearable, and now that it was in her grasp, now that it had the actual chance of not working out… Lexa wasn’t sure she could take the blow to her heart if no spark of recognition lit in Clarke’s eyes when she finally found her.  It was a heavy feeling to look into the soul of someone intimately familiar in a past life and see a stranger, and even harder to <i>feel </i>like the stranger.  </p><p>She sighed and removed her reading glasses, pinching her nose between her eyes as she collected herself, steeled her resolve.  She pulled out a drawer on the side of her desk and pulled up a stack of old papers just high enough to slip the one with Clarke’s information at the bottom, before she stood and stretched.  She’d been sitting for hours, and there was something considerably more draining about sitting indoors, virtually motionless at a desk, than camping out in the trees all night waiting for slight signs of movement.  </p><p>“Return to where you belong now, Roscoe,” she said sternly at the fat gray cat who’d sprawled himself out on the back of the sofa.  He blinked back at her, and she sighed.  Just as she moved to grab the cat and toss him outside, she heard the door creak behind her.  </p><p>“Lexa?  Why are you still up?” a sweet voice sounded, groggy with sleep and full of concern.  Lexa almost melted each time she heard it.  Very nearly melted into a puddle and sobbed at her feet, apologizing for the hand she’d been dealt because Heda had loved her.  Cried that she’d never thought she’d hear that voice again.  But she’d done that already, and Costia had placed a warm, living hand to her forehead, and had asked seriously if she’d been drinking enough water.  When Lexa had looked into her eyes for that first time, and every time again for the past three years, she’d felt both happy and sad for the loss of the woman she had loved, and the second chance at life – a happy life – her well-deserving love had been given.  Her Costia had happiness and love sparkling in her eyes in a way they never had before.  She’d never been marred by the vengeance sought against Lexa, she hadn’t watched friends and family die at war’s cold hand, and Lexa enjoyed the lightness in her.  It suited her, but Lexa missed the fire in the girl she used to know.  The spark in her eyes as she boldly ignored her Heda’s orders to stay away, the determination that rolled off her in waves as she defied Lexa’s wishes and loved her anyway.</p><p>“I was just coming to bed,” Lexa gave her a soft smile that, despite everything, still came easily whenever she looked at Costia.  She wasn’t the same girl she used to know, but she was still Costia, and Lexa hadn’t thought she’d have so much of a sliver of a chance like this again.  She took the outstretched hand that fit hers like the hilt of her favorite sword and allowed the woman to lead her to their bedroom, cat forgotten.  </p><p>The next morning, Lexa woke with the sun despite the late hour she’d kept.  She turned on her side and gazed down at Costia’s sleeping form, watching the peaceful rise and fall of her chest as she dreamt.  She deserved to sleep late and dream happily, especially after the peaceful existence she’d earned had been shaken up, once again at the hands of Lexa.</p><p>
  <i>Three years earlier:</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa, still groggy from the fitful night prior, stumbled out of the bed too soft for her hardened bones and felt around the dark bedroom.  Shades were pulled across the windows, blocking virtually all the light from the sun that Lexa had at one point risen with.  She grasped one end of the thick fabric and yanked it back with too much force, and the plastic rings holding it up against the window snapped off the bar under the stress of Lexa’s tug.  She scowled at them and made toward the door she knew to open to her home as of the last two weeks.  It was small and unfamiliar to her, and the ones who’d preceded and guided her had never shown her a place such as this.  She grasped the polished steel of the knob but paused at the familiar voice sneaking underneath the crack at the bottom of the door.  She dropped to her knees, the plush carpet cushioning the abrupt change in stance as she bent forward, held her breath, and let the voices of ghosts wash over her bones and chill her down to her spine.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“She’s lost her mind, I don’t know how or why or if something hap-happened,” Costia spoke in that soft way of hers, and she hid it as well as ever, but Lexa could tell she was fighting to keep from being choked by her tears.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Start from the beginning, please?” the new voice carried a little better than Costia’s, and Lexa knew from the first few syllables, the timbre was unmistakably Anya.  Her heart thundered so wildly it hurt.  Penance for all her sins comes in the form of a hell surrounded by ghosts who know nothing of her heart.  Fitting for the Commander of Blood.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“She woke up one morning and was very… disoriented.  She was looking for something, going through all the drawers, looking for some kind of… she was looking for a flame, but she was pronouncing things weird and, and,” Costia stammered, and Lexa let her forehead rest against the carpet as she willed Costia to stop talking. “I asked her what she was doing, and she stopped everything and just looked at me like… like… I don’t know how to describe it.  Her whole face changed, and she came up to me and dropped to her knees and started talking in… some other language. It was harsh and slurred at the same time. I thought she’d hit her head, or was dehydrated, you know, it’s hot this summer.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa listened helplessly as Costia began to cry.  She closed her eyes tightly, her own tears burning threateningly behind her lids.  How she’d hurt her, how she’d scared her.  Costia didn’t deserve to deal with this. Her Costia had cared for her so sweetly, so lovingly, and she was so unbelievably upset by a situation Lexa couldn’t begin to understand herself, let alone explain to someone who remembered nothing of who they used to be.   </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“She doesn’t remember things.  She doesn’t remember her job, or which clothes are hers.  She keeps wearing mine!  They’re too big for her and she keeps wearing mine!  I had to call her boss and tell him why she wasn’t coming in and I just,” Costia trailed off as a new wave of tears hit, and Lexa’s heart clenched as tightly as her fists. “She’s – she’s not the same. Ever since that day, she’s just been locked up, her heart and soul have been locked up and she won’t let me see what she’s feeling.  I don’t know what to do, Anya.” Quiet swept over the pair as Costia began to sob. Her voice became muffled.  Lexa hoped Anya was comforting her. The angel who had starred in so many of her nightmares was real and alive, but still suffering.   </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“The first vacation I take in four years and Lexa has to have some kind of dramatic breakdown,” Anya’s voice pulled Lexa from her spiraling thoughts and drew a wet laugh from Costia.  It was quiet for a moment before Costia spoke again, but her voice was clearer than it had been when Lexa first started eavesdropping.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I just don’t know what to do to help her.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You should have called me.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You would’ve left early.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Have you taken her to see a doctor?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i> Lexa pushed herself off the ground.  Costia had tried several tactics to get her to seek medical attention, but for what?  What would these healers understand?  The healers she knew would have deemed her insane, a helpless cause.  How could she explain she’d been thrust into her own personal hell?  There was no condition for that, the only causes sin and guilt.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Unless this was a second chance, the second chance she’d prayed for, begged whatever deity to grant her in exchange for anything.  There had been a time shortly after Costia’s death that Lexa had bargained with her own soul to whatever deity may be listening that she be granted a second chance, at life, at love, at Costia.  Perhaps this was her second chance, her redemption, and all it had ended up costing was her life.  One final good deed to save her people in the City of Light, and she’d earned her place in this world.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>If it took losing The Flame, her people, her command, her influence, her purpose… she would try harder to embrace this life, to give Costia the happiness she deserved.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa twisted the knob on the door and walked into the sad scene of Costia sitting hunched at the table, her eye makeup smeared and rubbed as she fiddled with a mug as Anya sat across from her.  It had been a long time since Lexa had seen Anya without war paint, and to see her bare faced in a leather jacket reminiscent of Skaikru was almost too odd, but she was here, and she, like Costia, looked concerned.  Anya had always had a tough façade to mask concern, and the scowl Lexa was being thrown proved consistent.  As Costia registered Lexa’s presence, she sat up a little straighter in her chair and rubbed her cheeks self-consciously, as though trying to hide her tears.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Anya, it is good to see you,” Lexa said honestly, her voice, with much effort, coming out much more relaxed than she felt.  Costia’s shoulders slumped slightly and she looked almost relieved.  Anya only scowled. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Imagine my surprise,” Anya spoke at last after holding Lexa’s gaze a beat too long.  “To come home and learn my best friend has literally lost her mind.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I can imagine, believe me,” Lexa said shortly.  Costia had been walking on eggshells around her for two weeks.  This was refreshing, and if Lexa’s heart wasn’t exploding in anticipation for what was about to happen, she might have enjoyed the verbal spar with her old friend.  Anya had always been able to dish as well as she took.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Get dressed.  You’re coming with me,” Anya spoke with a practiced authority, and Lexa all but snarled at the order.  Costia was quick to her feet and crossed the small room.  She wrapped a timid hand around Lexa’s bicep and Lexa shot her a scathing look that she instantly regretted when Costia recoiled as though she’d been burned. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“No.” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m taking you to the hospital and if I have to physically restrain you, I will,” she threatened, pulling something metallic from her pocket.  Lexa’s eyes narrowed and she widened her stance, natural instinct and muscle memory taking over.</i>
</p><p>“Soulou gonplei, yu gada throudon in,”<i> Lexa spoke clearly, hoping for, but not expecting, a smirk to grace Anya’s sharp features at her challenge.  Anya’s eyes narrowed as she took in Lexa’s stance.  Confusion.  She watched Anya carefully as her old friend’s eyes darted towards Costia.  Lexa raised her fists to clearer convey her message.</i></p><p>
  <i>“Lexa, what are you doing?” Costia asked from her spot near the bedroom door, her voice shrill and trembling.  Lexa looked back at her and guilt swept through her heart at the pitiful sight of Her Costia, shoulders and lips trembling and eyes pleading at Lexa to be better, to be normal.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Leave us, Costia,” she said as gently as she could, lowering her fists, but as Costia opened her mouth, likely to protest, she heard Anya make her move.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m sorry about this, Costia,” Anya said as she launched herself at Lexa. In a defensive tactic meant more to subdue than do harm, Anya was on Lexa’s back with her neck in the crook of her elbow.  Anya had always been heavier than Lexa, and she stumbled under the unexpected weight.  Costia drew back against the wall, and Lexa jabbed her left elbow back into Anya’s stomach and wrapped her right hand around the arm choking her neck.  Anya grunted, but squeezed tighter, and Lexa pushed with her legs as hard as she could, jumping into a cartwheel so Anya was flipped over onto her back, Lexa landing ungracefully on top of her.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>She felt Anya’s legs squeeze her waist like a vice and they were flipped over.  With her face pressed into the plush of the carpet, she heard the clinking of metal as Anya grabbed one of her wrists.  Lexa twisted her arm away, nearly dislocating her shoulder in the process.  Anya had training, she would give her that, but she no longer fought like Trikru.  She relaxed her body and pulled her arms underneath her as she rested her forehead on the carpet.  The moment Anya’s thighs relaxed their hold on her midsection, Lexa twisted over and knocked Anya sideways.  With agile movements, Lexa was on her feet again, Anya seconds behind her.  Anya swung, and Lexa deflected with one wrist and countered with her other arm, using it to push Anya back.  Anya swung again, and Lexa repeated the motions. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa circled around Anya, her eyes trained on her old teacher who remembered none of the lessons she had taught her.  She fought with aggression, left herself vulnerable to attack, and was showing signs of fatigue.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I don’t want to hurt you, Anya,” Lexa said as she caught a left hook with her hand, squeezing Anya’s fist and twisting her wrist slightly.  Over Anya’s labored breathing, she heard a whimper that sounded like a wounded animal come from Costia’s direction.  She looked from the corner of her eye at Her Costia, leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her face twisted in agonizing worry.  She didn’t catch the right hook Anya landed near her nose, and she felt it crack under the pressure.  Her eyes watered and she released the hold on Anya’s left fist.  She vaguely registered Costia crying out her name as she blinked through the tears crawling into her eyes on their own accord.  She raised her leg and kicked Anya square in the chest, knocking her to the ground and she was on her in a second, her knee pressed to her chest as she looked down on her friend.  Blood dripped from her nose onto Anya’s face, and Anya stared at her with wide eyes before she reached out and touched Lexa’s face.  She recoiled from the contact near her throbbing nose and held her wrist underneath to catch the bleeding.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Lexa,” Anya wheezed, her eyes glued to her fingertips.  Lexa lifted the pressure from her knee and fell back to sit, watching Anya carefully.  “Your – your blood.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Costia rushed forward and knelt next to Lexa, taking her face gingerly in her hands.  “Is that…” Costia trailed off, her concerned eyes glued to Lexa’s nose.  She allowed the examination: she didn’t deserve the affection Costia kept freely giving.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I won.  No hospital.  No healers,” she repeated, wincing involuntarily at the pressure speaking put on her nose.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Honey, why is your blood black?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa paused at the question.  It had always been, she had been born with the blood of the Commander, but the way Anya and Costia were looking at her, she could deduce that it hadn’t always been that way.  In a life with no commanders, there was no need for Natblidas.  Perhaps they’d never seen her bleed before.  There was a slew of possibilities, but Lexa had no more answers than they did.</i></p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p>
  <i></i>
</p><p><i>“I do not know what has happened,” Lexa spoke finally, choosing her words carefully.  She could not lie to the honest brown eyes gazing at hers with such love and conviction.  “But I do know,” she paused, taking Costia’s hand gently in one and cupping her jaw with the other, “that I have been given a chance to be part of the life you deserve to live, and I will not take that for granted.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Costia put her hand over Lexa’s and gave her a teary smile.  She heard Anya grunt as she sat up.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?” </i>
</p><p>Costia stirring beside her tore Lexa from her memory, and Lexa gave her a soft smile and brushed a dark brown curl out of her face as she slowly woke up.  She turned and burrowed into the warmth of Lexa’s side, and Lexa traced the crease on her cheek from the pillowcase.  </p><p>“What time is it?” Costia mumbled against her chest, and Lexa held her tightly.</p><p>“The sun has beat you up once again,” Lexa whispered affectionately, content to bask in the lazy morning that she knew Costia cherished.  Costia had a job working Monday through Friday nine months out of the year at a local school.  She was a teacher for young children, aged 4-5, and Lexa thought it was the perfect calling for her.  She radiated joy whenever she brought home works of art the children had done for her, and Lexa enjoyed the stories of misadventures she told over dinner nearly every day.  After Lexa’s “episode” three years prior Costia had picked up what she lightly called her “summer job” at some sort of day camp, also for children.  Lexa didn’t understand why organized, supervised indoor events were considered camping, but she hadn’t asked.  She also had the suspicion that without Lexa’s monetary contribution to the household since her own profession had been abandoned due to her “psychosis,” as Anya affectionately called it, Costia had needed to bring in more money. She’d also eavesdropped a phone conversation Costia had had with a friend whom Lexa didn’t know.  </p><p>She held Costia as she stretched and dozed comfortably for a few moments before determining she was ready enough for the day to get up, and Lexa watched as she pulled off her soft cotton T shirt and moseyed into the bathroom.  She emerged a few minutes later, toothbrush in her mouth and toothpaste foaming and dripping down her chin, asking her a question through the mess in her mouth.  Lexa wrinkled her nose at her.</p><p>“I cannot understand you with that thing,” she reminded Costia gently, and Costia laughed and went back into the bathroom.  Lexa shook her head and rolled slowly out of bed, taking her time to stretch.  She’d gotten used to slow, lazy mornings, and wondered if that would have ever happened if she’d remained the Commander.  Costia emerged as Lexa was straightening the bed linens, fresh faced and dressed for a day of entertaining a large group of young children.</p><p>“What are you going to do today?” Costia repeated her unintelligible question from earlier as she pulled her dark hair back into a tight ponytail with practiced ease.</p><p>“I thought about going for a walk,” Lexa said, keeping her eyes focused on the duvet to avoid looking at Costia.  She felt guilty telling her such a half truth after Costia had been nothing but supportive of her these years.  Lexa avoided speaking of anything that could relate back to the experiences she’d had prior to her second life, and that included anything that could relate to Clarke in any way.  She hadn’t told her that she’d asked Anya two years ago if she’d heard of her, or that she’d mulled over Anya’s negative response for six more months before asking if she’d keep an eye out for any sign of Clarke Griffin.  Anya had pressed for more information, but Lexa didn’t budge.  She’d almost thought Anya had forgotten her strange request.</p><p>Costia was, predictably, enthusiastic about Lexa’s idea to wander out into the real world and reminded her to wear comfortable shoes and take some water because it was predicted to be ninety degrees by noon.  Lexa smiled and nodded and kissed her on the forehead in goodbye and Costia waved out the door on her way to her car.  Lexa watched from the window overlooking the front yard and returned the little wave Costia threw out the window as she spun off down the road, and the moment she turned left at the stop sign at the end of their street, Lexa closed the blinds and pulled the drapes before making a beeline to the desk.  </p><p>She pulled open the drawer and slipped the bottom paper out, her hands steady despite the staccato of her heart as she stared at her own handwriting:  Collins-Griffin, Arkadia Memorial.  The first time she noticed it, she’d asked Costia what it had been named for, and Costia hadn’t known.  It was added to a list she’d made of all the peculiar parallels between this life and the prior in a pocket-sized notebook Costia had given her.  The list was tucked safely in the drawer of her bedside table: she referred to it less and less as time went on. She ripped off the handwritten portion of her newspaper and folded it up, tucking it safely in the pocket of her jeans.  </p><p>“Roscoe,” she spoke solemnly to the cat who had wandered in as Costia was looking for her keys.  He adjusted his position on the sofa, and Lexa sighed and gave him a pat on the head.  “I’ll trust you to keep watch in my absence.”</p><p>Lexa left the house, locking the front door behind her despite the back door left open with a crack large enough for a fat cat to slip through.  She knew the streets of her neighborhood very well by this point:  Once she turned at the same stop sign Costia did and cleared the rows of houses, she’d see a busy little gas station where people were always going in and out, then a grocery store that always seemed crowded no matter the time or day of the week.  She’d walk for twenty minutes and pass a hardware store, a liquor store, another gas station, and a strip mall where Costia liked to go sometimes to get her “nails done.”  This world had strange traditions and even stranger priorities, but Lexa had gotten used to them, for the most part.  Ten more minutes at a brisk pace and utilizing a convenient walkway built above a busy road, and Lexa could see Arkadia Memorial.  </p><p>She’d told herself this day would likely never happen, but now that it was here, she couldn’t say she hadn’t been anticipating it.  She’d gone through mock conversations in her mind of how the situation would go.  Clarke would see her and run to her, wrapping her in an embrace she didn’t realize she missed so badly until she allowed herself to think about it.  It would be uncomfortably tight, Clarke would probably be shaking, her eyes would be red when they’d pull away, but she’d be smiling.  Lexa would smile back at her and tell her something about how brave she was to do what she did, how proud of her she was to have saved her people, how lucky they were to have her.  She’d get her hopes up that Clarke would remember her.  She would usually break herself away from the fantasy at that point, guilt seeping through her bones at the thought of Costia’s smiling, sweaty face after playing in the sun with children all day.  </p><p>She arrived at Arkadia Memorial with little to no information about the woman she was hoping to meet.  Should she go inside and ask politely to be pointed in the direction of Dr. Collins-Griffin?  Should she sit outside and wait in hopes of spotting the hair like the sun that graced her dreams at least bi-weekly?  Or would she be able to feel her energy like she had the day they met, when the Skaikru whirlwind of a leader blew into her tent and didn’t bend under her gaze?  </p><p>The hospital didn’t seem particularly busy for a Thursday mid-morning, but Lexa decided to give herself the benefit of known terrain for this mission of so many unknown variables and took a seat on a bench furthest from the entrance.  She’d always been more comfortable outdoors, and the blistering heat didn’t bother her: the soft cotton T shirt was much more breathable than anything she was used to wearing in the hot months. </p><p>“This will take as long as it takes,” she muttered to herself under her breath, the barest smile twitching at the corner of her lips.  </p><p>It had taken roughly four hours.  The sun had moved directly overhead and started its journey down, a long blade of grass from the patch in front of Lexa’s bench acting as her timepiece.  She watched the cars in the parking lot rotate.  She watched several patients and families enter, and fewer exit.  She saw medical professionals go in, and out.  A delivery driver came and brought seven packages, in and out so quickly he didn’t even turn off his truck.  Lexa had just checked her blade of grass and determined she would let the shadow turn a few more degrees to the East before she should head home when Clarke walked out of the hospital.  </p><p>Lexa’s heart froze as she saw the young woman exit the building and walk a few paces to the nearest bench.  She was looking at her phone, tapping it incessantly (something Costia did a lot as well, texting it was called).  She was suddenly nervous, her hands almost trembled as she pushed herself into a standing position.  This was the moment she’d spent an afternoon sitting on a hard metal bench in the muggy heat of midsummer waiting for.  Her feet bravely carried where her heart feared to go, and she didn’t stop until she stood in front of Clarke, blocking the sun and casting Clarke in an afternoon shadow.  It felt like a slow-motion dream as Clarke stopped her typing to look up at the figure who’d blocked the light, and Lexa’s heart broke at the look of confusion in the tired blue eyes that met hers.  </p><p>“Are you Dr. Collins-Griffin?” she asked quietly, knowing the answer but needing to hear her voice again.  Clarke leaned back against the bench and folded her arms across her chest.  She looked exhausted, as though she carried this world on her shoulders as much as she had their other.  </p><p>“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked in lieu of a straight answer, and Lexa pushed the immediate swell of emotion as far away from her headspace as she could, though could not unglue her eyes from Clarke’s.  Clarke raised an eyebrow at her, and Lexa couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting to it and following the curve.  She looked clean and had no cuts or scratches, and a bit older from how Lexa remembered her, but the difference in her eyes was everything Lexa had hoped she wouldn’t see.  </p><p>Lexa must have been staring a little too long, looking at her a little too intensely, because she was forced to take a quick step backwards when Clarke abruptly stood up.  “Did you need something?” she repeated the question.  Her stance was defensive, and Lexa had to fight a bittersweet smile.  Some things always remained the same. </p><p>“I just wanted to see you again,” she admitted honestly, not caring how it would come across.  She was just a stranger; their paths hadn’t crossed in three years and it was only by intervention that they did at all.  Clarke’s brow furrowed further at her statement, but Lexa didn’t want this to be harder than it already was.  She didn’t need an escalated argument with Clarke, she didn’t want to watch the fire spark life into her blue eyes.  She didn’t need anything but to stop holding on to the ill seeded hope.  </p><p>“I wanted to see if you were happy.  Here.  To tell you that I’m proud of you, and to say… to say goodbye.  May we meet again,” she said as Clarke opened her mouth to retort, effectively muting whatever Clarke had been planning to say.  Her expression went from agitated to mildly confused but too tired to care, and Lexa gave her a sad, soft smile, and for the second time in her life, turned her back on Clarke Griffin and walked away.  For some reason, this time felt immensely harder than the first.  </p><p>That evening Lexa had feigned too long of a walk and too much heat and retired early for the night and proceeded to lay awake, Clarke’s tired, annoyed face a new permanent fixture in her mind’s eye.  She shouldn’t have gone; she should have left well enough alone, but in going and waiting for hours outside Arkadia Memorial Hospital, she had at least gained a sick sense of closure.  There was no more wondering, no more fantasizing about a miraculous reunion.  It hadn’t been fair to Costia, who had done nothing but love, support, and accept her through this “psychosis” of a transition.  She had emerged into this second chance in Costia’s bed, not Clarke’s.  It was Costia who had paid for Lexa’s love with her life. </p><p> She was still awake when Costia crawled into bed next to her, and she was still awake when her breathing evened out and she snuggled next to Lexa’s back in her sleep.   When she finally succumbed to sleep, it was fitful and filled with bad memories twisted together: dreams of Clarke’s head being delivered to her bed, of Costia’s devastation as Lexa admitted her betrayal at the entrance to the Mountain.  A dizzying mixture of some of her deepest regrets, coiled together like a snake ready to pounce.</p><p>In the early hours of the morning, Lexa gave up on sleep altogether and untangled herself from Costia’s sleeping form.  She made her way into the kitchen and prepared a pot of coffee as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake Costia, and not wanting to have to speak.  She’d watched Costia prepare morning coffee several times before making her first attempt, and by now it was a simple routine.  She enjoyed the hot bitterness even in the summertime; it reminded her of a tea Anya had taught her to make in the early days of her training for cold mornings camping out in Azgeda territory.  She stood near the coffee maker until it was complete, focusing on the aroma to clear her mind.  </p><p>Lexa poured herself a mug and sat it on the kitchen table to cool and headed for the front door.  It was Friday, which meant the first installment of the “Weekend Paper” as Costia liked to call it, should be waiting for her outside.  After the realization had sunk in that she needed to familiarize herself with the culture and customs of her new world, she’d taken to reading newspapers.  The orange bag it came in had enticed her one morning during a walk around the neighborhood to familiarize herself with the terrain and she’d been reading it on the sofa when Costia woke up.  Costia had laughed when she told her where she’d found it but had still made her wrap it up and bring it back to the driveway she’d found it on. <i> “You can’t just steal other people’s newspapers, Lexa!”</i>  The next weekend, their own subscription started showing up in the driveway.  </p><p>Lexa collected the paper and brought it inside to read while she drank her coffee.  She slid the paper out of the bag and laid it neatly across the table, peering at the cover photo as she took a small sip of the hot coffee.  It was a picture of her tower in Polis, though here it was known as Polaris, and it certainly wasn’t hers anymore.  The first time she’d seen it, Costia had taken her on a trip to see “the city.”  It had been busy and crowded and Lexa did not care for the congestion of vehicles or the way the air smelled, but her first look at the tower had caught her entirely off guard.  It had been a powerful building in her time, but to see it intact with shiny metal and gleaming windows had been like something out of a dream.  She’d felt a natural pull toward it, to once again haunt the floors she used to roam.  The sight of it had made her sad, angry, and nostalgic all in one uncomfortable, overbearing emotion, but she’d asked Costia about it anyway.  </p><p>Costia had told her that it was a bank, full of stuffy people doing stuffy, boring jobs all day and getting no fresh air.  Lexa hadn’t been able to hide her disappointment at Costia’s explanation, and Costia, being who she was, had asked Lexa why it upset her.  Lexa had told her that it didn’t matter anymore, because they were able to see it together in such a pristine state, and Costia had given Lexa a very nice kiss for her sentimental statement.</p><p>Lexa didn’t think the grainy black and white photo on the front of the paper did it justice, but she settled in to read the article.  She read the headline as she took a large gulp from her cooling coffee, and involuntarily swallowed too much at once and coughed, spluttering, fighting to reread through the watery tears that burned. </p><p>
  <i>Azgeda Industries Buys Polaris Tower: Nia Snowe Has the Bank in the Bag</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Danger in Frustration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clarke was nearing the end of her patience, the last strand of sanity she was grasping being pulled tighter and tighter.  Physics dictated it wouldn’t be able to sustain the pressure, yet she kept breathing.  She’d collected herself and put the sketchbook carefully back in the bottom drawer, underneath the empty photo frame.  She didn’t know where Finn was and didn’t care.  In the quiet of the apartment she resumed the search, albeit slower.  She felt drained despite the full night sleep she got, her only motivation to keep from crawling back into the soft, comfortable bed was her personal motivational mantra.  For Madi.  She searched the dresser for Madi, rummaged through Finn’s socks and underwear for a shard of anything that could bring her closer to Madi.  She didn’t expect to find something, but she couldn’t stop trying, she couldn’t just sit and do<i> nothing</i>, even if at this point she was grasping at loose ends desperately trying to find a way to make them meet, to find anything that made sense.  Every clue uncovered opened the door to more questions, stranger possibilities, and painted a picture of her dismal new reality.  </p><p>Both bathrooms and Sam’s bedroom were dead ends.  The living room seemed to be Finn’s domain, but she searched anyway, thumbed through the stacks of papers folded in thirds and addressed to herself and Finn, sometimes both.  She methodically opened each envelope and scanned the contents for any sign.  Past due bills, insurance organizations, and pre-approvals for whatever the hell American Express was.  Movies were stacked on the coffee table and Clarke skimmed through the titles: she hadn’t seen any of them from the Ark’s minimalistic library.  </p><p>The kitchen was an entity of its own: the dishes laid out to dry from the night before were still there, but some bowls had been added to the pile, presumably from Sam and Finn’s breakfast.  Clarke’s own stomach gnawed at her, but she couldn’t stand the thought of eating with the memory of her nightmare still fresh on her mind.  A leather, feminine-looking bag sat slouched on the kitchen counter, and with any sense of propriety long gone, Clarke snatched it up and peered inside.  As she shuffled through the mess she was reminded of the top bedside table drawer.  A hairbrush, several pens, and a green rectangular box with a silhouetted camel on the front were all crammed in the bag.  She pulled out the box and frowned.</p><p>“Menthol fresh,” she muttered to herself.  She flipped open the top and took an experimental sniff, wrinkling her nose at the box half-full of white cylinders.  She tossed it back in the bag and felt around until her hands met the familiar sensation of worn leather near the bottom.  She eagerly pulled out a dark brown, well-used pouch with a gleaming silver zipper and all but tore it off trying to open it so quickly.  There were several plastic cards lining the slots inside, and Clarke’s heartrate jumped at the realization.  These were credit cards, which served as an electronic link to financial accounts, giving access to funds without having to physically possess the currency, if her memory served correctly.  From her schooling she had learned that the time before the bombs revolved heavily around monetary exchange: you worked for money, you used the money to purchase food and housing and virtually anything else.  She had no idea how much money was accessible through these cards, or how much could even be considered a lot, but she clearly wasn’t going to be able to make her way through this travesty with the skills and means she’d grown accustomed to.  She plucked a few out and studied each, her own name with the addition of Collins proudly embossed in each one.    </p><p>A sharp series of knocks at the front door startled Clarke, and she scrambled to push the leather pouch back into the bag, pocketing the cards she’d taken out.  Her heart raced as she neared the door, stalling a few feet away.  Perhaps it was Finn.  She still had his key, after all.  Or perhaps it wasn’t.  It could be something much worse waiting on the other side of the door: the person she’d followed last night, returning to teach her a lesson about running people down in this day and age.  A murderer, someone with an actual weapon, seeking out women left alone in their apartments while their husbands were out.  Clarke drew in a shaky breath and forced down the illogical fears.  She’d fought off Grounders, she could defend herself with only her hands.  Her dream had her skittish and fearful, and she knew she had to get a grip on herself if she was going to get back to Madi.</p><p>The knock sounded again, and Clarke didn’t allow herself another moment to fear before turning back the lock and ripping the door open, her brows and jaw set to the most menacing expression she could muster.  Abby Griffin stood on the other side of the door, looking tired and annoyed and entirely opposite the devil Clarke had been expecting on the other side of the door.  She was dressed in clothes nicer than any Clarke had seen her in before: a smart-looking short-sleeved blouse and slacks, but the look in her eyes told Clarke that not only had Abby likely been up all night working, but she was here for a confrontation.  </p><p>Clarke couldn’t help herself, though.  It was one thing listening to Abby’s wrath on the other end of a phone, with miles separating them and her logical mind able to separate the voice from her actual mother, but physically <i>seeing </i>Abby had Clarke’s resolve cracking, and before Abby could open her mouth, Clarke all but threw herself at her mother, hugging her tightly and squeezing her eyes shut as hard as she could to prevent tears from spilling.  She hadn’t seen her mother in six years, and though the lines of stress and worry she was all too familiar with were more prominent, her hair lighter with more strands of grey than Clarke could remember, she more or less looked exactly how Clarke had imagined she would after all this time. </p><p>She released her grasp as she felt Abby pat her back twice then gently push her away, and Clarke rubbed vigorously underneath her eyes and nose with the sleeve of the sweatshirt she’d been wearing for nearly three days now.  When she braved eye contact with her mother, Abby had a strange look of concern.  The same look Clarke had been getting from Finn ever since she found herself trapped in this world.  Clarke wordlessly stepped away from the door, gesturing her arm lamely to invite her mother inside.  Abby complied, and Clarke shut the door quietly and followed her into the kitchen, suddenly embarrassed of the way her mother was distastefully eyeing the mess around the room.  Clarke awkwardly straightened a pile of papers next to the bag on the counter as Abby cleared her throat.</p><p>“I came to see if you were all right,” Abby finally spoke, her voice stiff and controlled in a way that reminded Clarke of how she was before her dad got floated, before everything in her life had crumbled beneath her feet for the first time.  Before Abby had seen how difficult life could be outside the safe vantage point of a secluded space station.  </p><p>Clarke was afraid to speak, afraid her voice would crack with the mounting pressure of the last 24 hours bearing down on her.  Where would she even begin?  She desperately wanted to crawl into her mother’s arms and unload the burden she’d been carrying, to ask why she was here.  A child-like instinct pressured her to seek her mother’s comfort: Abby could help her fix this, she needed her help, she needed her mother.  </p><p>“Clearly, I was right to worry,” Abby continued after a moment of Clarke avoiding eye contact and fiddling with the papers on the counter, fighting the internal battle.  Her voice grounded Clarke into this reality and snapped her attention painfully back to the reality that this woman wasn’t the mother she’d left in the bunker six years ago.  This woman was Abby in looks and personality, and she was another aching realization that Clarke was virtually alone in this endeavor.  Another drawn out, awkward silence that Clarke couldn’t bring herself to fill passed between the women before Abby spoke again.  </p><p>“Where’s Finn?” It almost sounded like an accusation, and Clarke looked up at her, frowning.  </p><p>“I don’t know,” she responded honestly, her voice hoarse but not as bad as she’d expected it to be.  </p><p>“I don’t know why you let him treat you like this,” Abby rounded, and Clarke felt a burst of defensiveness for the man she’d spent the last few days with.  He’d clearly been concerned with her, and maybe a little upset about his “wife’s” sudden career crisis, but he’d been a caring father and a respectful husband.  Aside from the few embraces and the kiss they’d shared, he hadn’t touched her.  He’d been exactly how Clarke would expect Finn would be in an environment lacking war and death lurking around every corner, and if anything, she was starting to get used to his presence.  </p><p>“Treat me like what?  What are you talking about?” Clarke retorted, genuinely confused and more than a little annoyed at the way her mother had spat out Finn’s name like he was a tarnish on their family tree.  She knew from the journal entries her mother didn’t particularly like Finn, but she honestly couldn’t imagine her mother liking anyone she’d take as a partner, in this world or her own.  Finn certainly wasn’t Wells, after all, and at least on the Ark, her mother hadn’t kept it a secret who she hoped Clarke would marry one day.  </p><p>“Let’s not beat around the bush, Clarke, I can tell when you’re upset. He’s cheating again, isn’t he?”  Clarke took a step back, her brow furrowed in confusion as she sped through the newfound information.  Finn had had an affair.  He was a devoted father, he seemed appreciative of the time she’d spent with him, he’d taken her to Polis, given her an emotional kiss… but he was Finn, and she couldn’t pretend to understand all the emotional baggage that could have occurred before she was thrust into this life.  It made theoretical sense, but Clarke could have buried her face in her hands and screamed her frustration with the situation until her throat bled.  Because of course there had to be another piece to the dramatic puzzle that was this existence, and of course she couldn’t just focus all her efforts into getting home to Madi.  Because Abby just had to assume the only reason Clarke wouldn’t come to work was if her husband were cheating on her.  For Doctor Clarke’s sake, she hoped it was just an overly dramatic assumption on Abby’s part and that her counterpart wouldn’t dump the rest of her life just because Finn Collins had a track record of being an idiot when multiple women were involved.  For all she knew, Finn could be shopping or helping Sam with something at school, or he really could be out with another woman, but Clarke couldn’t find it in her heart to care right now.  It was Doctor Clarke’s problem, not hers, and she couldn’t let herself get sucked further into the family drama that their lives seemed to revolve around.  </p><p>“This has nothing to do with Finn,” Clarke said firmly after a beat, shaking her head at her mother in a definitive manner.  Abby didn’t care and pummeled on.    </p><p>“I can’t sit by and watch you destroy your career while you sit around and,” Abby gestured to Clarke’s attire, “mope!”</p><p>“This also has nothing to do with my<i> career</i>,” she drawled, unable to resist rolling her eyes in sheer exhaustion at the conversation.</p><p>“Then indulge me, please.  What is it?  Are you pregnant again?” Abby asked, her hands on her hips.  Clarke blanched at the accusation when the sound of the front door opening and shutting pulled their attention away from each other.  Finn appeared around the corner, carrying a plastic bag, and stopped in his tracks upon the sight of mother and daughter standing in his kitchen, Abby angry and Clarke pale with a pinched face.  </p><p>“Is everything all right?” he asked cautiously, setting his bag on top of the pile of papers Clarke had just straightened.  </p><p>“Fine, Finn.  My mom was just leaving,” Clarke said through gritted teeth, looking pointedly at Abby who made no motion to leave.  Finn looked between Abby and Clarke, casting a questioning look in the latter’s direction.  Clarke gave him a short, subtle shake of her head and he thankfully took the hint and retreated into the living room, the sound of the television turning on signaling his arrival.  Clarke turned to her mother, running her hands down her face in exasperation.</p><p>“Look, Mom, I can’t do this right now. I appreciate the concern but-,”</p><p>“You don’t have to keep this baby if you’re not ready,” Abby at least had the decency to lower her voice lest the man in the other room overhear the wrong part of the discussion.  </p><p>“I’m <i>not</i> pregnant,” she hissed, glaring at her mother between the fingers splayed across her face.  Abby only looked at Clarke with an aggravating effrontery that she was rapidly losing the energy to match.  </p><p>“Then what could possibly be going on with you that’s more important than your <i>future</i>?” Abby was losing patience just as quickly as Clarke, and she felt herself beginning to boil over.</p><p>“I don’t fucking know!” she cried, advancing on her mother.  “I am not feeling myself, but I told you I will figure this out.  I asked you to back off and let me figure this out,” Clarke said carefully with slow precision, a raised eyebrow daring her mother to interrupt.  She summoned whatever grace and poise she gathered that had people on the ground listening to her and employed it.  Abby looked surprised, almost taken aback at the tone, but fortified her expression to equal Clarke’s in power for dominance.</p><p>“You are my child, Clarke.  You are my only child and I refuse to stand by and let you dig yourself into a hole that you can’t crawl out of,” Abby spoke just as slowly and purposefully as Clarke had, though Clarke winced as her voice carried, the anger and frustration impacting Abby’s volume control.  The television hadn’t turned off, but Finn appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in Clarke leaning aggressively toward Abby, who was standing her ground, utilizing the height advantage she had on her daughter.  </p><p>“What’s going on?” he asked, moving toward Clarke and placing a hand on her shoulder.  He ducked his head in an attempt to get her to look at him face on, but she shrugged out of his light grasp and took a step back from both him and Abby, folding her arms across her chest as Abby answered her son-in-law.</p><p>“This is between me and my daughter, so if you’ll-,” Abby started angrily, but Finn cut her off.</p><p>“I think if it’s happening in my house, involving my family, it concerns me, too!” he seemed small  next to the front Abby portrayed, but Clarke couldn’t help but admire the sheer stupid bravery he still possessed in this life, standing up to an angry Abby with misplaced intentions of protecting Clarke.  He was a good man, one who didn’t always think before he understood the entire situation, but chivalrous and well-meaning, nonetheless.</p><p>“Calm down, Finn,” Clarke tried, not wanting the situation to escalate any further. “We’re just talking.”</p><p>“I’m trying to understand what’s going on in my daughter’s head that is so all-consuming she can’t work or tell anyone about!” Abby’s gaze was locked onto Clarke, and she bristled.</p><p>“I just need time.  That’s all I wanted was some time away from <i>this</i>,” Clarke gestured between Finn and her mother.  “To figure some things out.  I don’t know how many more times I have to say it,” Clarke retorted, her own hands balling up into tight fists.  Her impatience with the conversation was spinning out of control, and now that Finn was involved it wasn’t something she could pack away as soon as Abby left. </p><p>“What are you trying to figure out?  Why wouldn’t you talk to me about this?” he rounded on her, but Abby stepped in.</p><p>“I’m sure there’s a reason she felt like she couldn’t,” Abby snarked at Finn, and Clarke swore she could see his blood pressure physically rise.  Great.  Finn kept his gaze locked on Clarke.  </p><p>“Is this what I think it’s about?” he asked lowly, accusingly.  Clarke fought the urge to roll her eyes, but Abby didn’t.  </p><p>“Of course, it is-,” she started, but Clarke was quick to intervene.</p><p>“I don’t think it’s either of your business-,” she snapped, but Hell had broken loose in the small apartment kitchen that felt even smaller with three angry adults crowded in the tight space.  It felt hot and suffocating, and she was so, so tired of pretending to be this other Clarke, of defending herself to her mother and masquerading as the wife and the mother and the daughter who cared about this family tension, who cared about anything other than getting back to Madi. </p><p>“My daughter giving up on herself because of her failed marriage is absolutely my business, especially after all the strings I’ve pulled to keep you from being suspended from the program with your recent hiatus!” Abby said darkly, pushing on the table with her pointer finger for emphasis.  </p><p>“Our marriage is none of your business, Abby,” Finn glared before rounding on Clarke, and she stepped back and sent him a glare of her own.  She wasn’t sure if he was trying to be intimidating or if he was just worked up, but she wasn’t about to give him any indication that she was afraid of him. “You can’t shut me out like this!  You said you wanted to get past this, get better, and we can’t do that if you’re keeping things from me!” </p><p>“This doesn’t have anything to do with you, Finn, so quit flattering yourself,” she said loudly, grasping at any straw that could give her a modicum of control back in this situation.  Finn crumbled slightly under her glare, and his anger seemed to deflate slightly into a sad defeat. </p><p>“We’re supposed to be a team,” he said, almost pitifully, and Clarke almost felt bad for the emotional turmoil this situation must be burying him with.  She didn’t have a lot of intel about the relationship between Doctor Clarke and Finn, but she certainly didn’t want to be the one to hash out the sordid details of all their baggage and trials, especially not in front of her mother.  </p><p>“We used to look at each other and I’d know exactly what you were thinking, but now… It almost feels like you’re someone else, and I don’t get it.  I don’t get it, Clarke, but I want to get it so if you would just tell me what’s going on with you maybe I could help!” Finn’s frustration grew along with his statement, and by the end he was riled up again, his knuckles going white on the back of the chair he gripped.</p><p> “The only thing going on right now is you two,” she pointed between them both, “need to give me some goddamn space like I asked for.  I don’t owe you anything.”</p><p>“You promised me you’d try,” Finn growled, “You promised, and it’s like you completely forgot what we talked about.  I’m doing my part, but you’re not doing yours.  You’re not being open,” he said accusingly, stepping forward and jabbing his finger into her sternum.  She held her chin high and defiant, grabbing his wrist and pushing it roughly away.</p><p>“Step back, Finn,” she said coolly, her eyes flaring with anger as she stared up into his.  She saw Abby move closer in her peripheral vision.</p><p>“Not until you tell me what’s going on with you.  You said you wanted to make this work,” he almost snarled back at her, but the desperation in his voice kept his stance and resonance from being intimidating.  “I feel like you changed overnight. <i> We were getting better,</i> and now I-,” Finn trailed off, pain and anger punctuating the nonexistent end of his rant.</p><p>“I’m not feeling myself, and you’re not helping,” she tried to keep her voice calm, but couldn’t quite eliminate the bark that laced the end of her sentence.</p><p>“You can’t<i> fucking </i>shut me out like this, Clarke!  Everything I’m doing is for <i>you</i>.  It’s always been for <i>you</i>,” he said lowly, and Clarke felt her chest tighten.  Up until now, their argument hadn’t felt personal.  Frustrating and infuriating, yes.  She’d gotten angry and tired of fighting her point that she couldn’t prove, because asking for them to trust her and let her fight her own battle was apparently too much, but she hadn’t felt personally involved, hadn’t invested her own actual feelings about the topics firing back and forth.  His confession brought her back to a darker time and place, with Lexa’s words ringing in her ears.<i> Then he dies for you</i>.  She looked up into Finn’s eyes, and was haunted again by the blood staining her hands. She couldn’t spend another second arguing with them about someone else’s life, not when her daughter was potentially in danger.  She’d been stupid to play along for as long as she already had.  </p><p>“Go float yourself.  Both of you.  I’m not doing this,” she said with finality, pushing past Finn with a rough shoulder to his chest and sharply turned the corner towards the front door.  Where she’d go, she didn’t know, she just had to start looking, stop idling around.  She’d figure it out.  She always did.</p><p>“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Finn shouted as she yanked open the door and let it slam behind her, taking off at a run down the hallway.  She pushed open the Mount Weather door so hard the back of it slammed into the wall behind her, but she ran down the stairs, taking two at a time, until she found herself racing across the parking lot as fast as her feet would carry her to the alley she’d found last night.  </p><p>Finn let out a yell as the door slammed behind Clarke, throwing a punch into the nearest wall.  It dented slightly, hurting his hand worse than the wall, but the pain gave him something to focus on instead of the fury rising like bile in his throat.  He’d almost forgotten Abby was still there, and he jumped when he turned around to see her glaring daggers at him, their faces inches apart as she pressed her finger into his chest the same way he’d done to Clarke.</p><p>“If I ever see you speak like that to my daughter again, I won’t watch so quietly,” Abby’s voice was eerily calm despite the inferno burning Finn through her eyes.  Finn stepped back from her reach and rubbed his chest, scowling back at her, but said nothing. </p><p>Abby shot him a scathing look and headed toward the door Clarke had fled through, and she paused, turning to look at him over her shoulder.<br/>
“Tell Clarke she’s expected back to work next Monday.  I couldn’t get her any more time,” she said, and with that, Finn was alone.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>Clarke watched from across the street as her mother left the building and drove off in a large silver vehicle, and the way the sun reflected off the paint seemed to draw an excess of attention to it amidst the older collection that littered the parking lot day in and day out.  She watched with bated breath as Finn left shortly after, presumably to go pick up Sam.  Clarke groaned and ducked back into the alley, leaning her head against the cool and rough of a brick building.  She felt hopeless and weak, the uncertainty of the situation weighing her down like a boulder stuck in the wake, pounded relentlessly by the waves but unmoving, stagnant, and slowly chipping away under the sea’s salty force.  She slid down into a sitting position, her sweatshirt riding up and the rough brick scratching her back as she plopped to the ground, her shoulders slouching under the weight of desperation.  She carefully pulled the folded photograph from her pocket and opened it slowly, grimacing at the creases that had already marred the picture from just a day and a half in her pocket.  She traced her father’s face with a shaking finger, then the symbol on his shirt.  </p><p>A slight noise in the distance had her hastily folding up the photo and scrambling to her feet.  She could hear the traffic from the road, muffled by the buildings on either side of her in the dead-end alleyway.  She shook her head and slid the picture back into her pocket and dusted off the back of her jeans.  If she was going to walk to Polis, she may as well start.  It was a long shot, but from her perspective, it was her only shot.  She took a gathering breath and left the alley, focusing on inhaling and exhaling and putting one step in front of the other at a normal pace.</p><p>“East,” she muttered to herself, turning her back to the sun at the first intersection she came to.  “Polis was East.”</p><p>As she walked, she kept her head down, instinctively trying to melt into the scenery whenever she saw another pedestrian.  She felt like a sore thumb, an obvious misplacement in the foreign world, but nobody seemed to be paying her much attention.  At the next intersection, she glanced to her left and to her right before making her way across the road.  A shadow struck her peripheral vision, but she shook it off as a trick of the setting sun and the movement from the parallel road.  She hurried across the street and quickened her pace.  </p><p>A sick feeling crept up the back of her neck the quicker she walked, the more streets she crossed.  She dared a chance look behind her and saw an older woman walking a dog about twenty feet behind, chatting happily on her phone.  Clarke shook her thoughts and kept moving, but the feeling didn’t dissipate.  When she could no longer hear the woman’s voice, she looked back again.  The sun was in her eyes from the harsh angle of the evening, and through the blinding squint she thought she saw… no.</p><p>She’d seen that jacket before, dark with the hood drawn up.  Her heart leapt into her throat and in unfamiliar territory, Clarke felt a lot less brave than she had the previous night.  She looked forward and her feet picked up pace on their own, guided more by her fear than her brain, and she took the next turn available and forced her legs to slow to a more normal pace as she came upon a group of teenagers leaning against a vehicle parked by the side of the road.  One of them looked at her but said nothing as Clarke quickly adverted her gaze to the sidewalk, trying desperately to focus on the sounds of her shoes hitting the cement and counting steps rather than rapid heartbeats.  The laughter from the group of teens died down after another block, and she looked behind her out of the corner of her eye as she crossed the next street to redirect herself back East.  The hooded figure was following her.</p><p>Finn’s fear for her safety the night before flooded her mind and she cursed herself for being so stupid as to wander off alone in a strange place, no knowledge of the terrain or her whereabouts.  If he was right, and whoever was following her had a gun, she’d be at their mercy.  She could get killed, or worse.  The thought propelled her tired legs faster, and she looked over her shoulder again.  She’d put a good amount of distance between them.  </p><p>She skidded to a stop and leaned against a building to catch her breath, gasping and clutching at a stitch in her side.  This street was less populated than the ones she’d been walking on, and she took the reprieve to wipe the sweat that had formed on her face with the sleeves of her sweatshirt and stumbled into a crouch, bracing her shoulder against the front of what looked to be an abandoned storefront.  The run-down little road brought her a sense of nostalgia and comfort, and she held her breath, her ears tuned to pick up any sound of approaching footsteps.</p><p>“Get a grip,” she chastised herself quietly. <i> Be brave.  Think of Madi.  You’ve battled worse demons than this, </i>she reminded herself.  She’d felt off all day, weak and vulnerable in the light of how the day had begun, and she bit her lip hard to focus on something other than the flashes of her nightmare surfacing in her mind’s eye. <i> Madi smiling, laughing. Be brave.</i></p><p>She tucked herself closer to the glass of the storefront, her eyes trained steadily on the corner she’d just turned.  The hood could take a detour, plan to cut her off ahead.  She was in a blind chase, and whoever they were, they undoubtedly knew the terrain better than she and could easily catch her from behind, but she put a hand to the cool cement for balance and prepared to run if worst came to worst.  She counted the seconds in her brain, unclear on which number she could finally relax, but barely there soft shuffling sounds appeared and began to crawl closer, moving much slower than Clarke had been walking.  She saw the figure’s shadow on the sidewalk ahead, long and stretched out in the setting sun.  No flyaway hair visible in the distorted image, Clarke clenched her jaw and stood up slowly, pressing herself flat against the side of the building.  She inched closer to the corner, drawing in a shallow, quiet breath as the steps became louder.  </p><p>The moment the figure cleared the corner, Clarke sprung into action.  She leapt, wrapping an arm around the hood’s neck and squeezing as tightly as she could.  She mustered all her strength and weight into dragging the figure around the corner, pushing them up against the glass of the store as hard as she could.  She dug a knuckle into their back in a desperate bluff. </p><p>“Don’t move,” she growled, kicking her foot into the back of their kneecap to offset their balance.  Either people in this world really had no idea how to defend themselves, or her pursuer wasn’t putting up a fight.  Their hands rose slowly and pressed flat onto the glass, a position of surrender, but Clarke couldn’t let her guard down.  For a fleeting moment she feared she’d grabbed and restrained an innocent bystander, in the wrong place at the wrong time, but pushed the thought aside.</p><p>“Why are you following me?” she demanded and released the pressure on their back to grasp the hood still pulled up.  She roughly tugged it down, and her jaw dropped at the long brown hair that tumbled out as soon as the fabric was away.  The color and the small intricate braids woven into the long wavy strands, had Clarke’s pulse pounding in a mixture of fear and something else.  The person turned their head, and at the sight of the profile, Clarke released her grasp and took a stumbling step back.  <i>No.  It couldn’t be.  </i></p><p>The person remained pushed up against the wall for a moment before slowly taking her hands off the glass and turning to face Clarke, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips and vibrant green-gray eyes shining proudly at her, glossy with unshed tears.  </p><p>“You are stronger than I remember,” a soft voice spoke, the voice that sent chills deep into her heart and spread like ice through her veins, burning and freezing her extremities all at once.  The voice of her nightmares, of her daydreams.  The quiet inflection of her erotic fantasies and domestic longings, and Clarke felt her own tears bubble up and cloud her vision.  She furiously rubbed underneath her eyes, unwilling to tear them away from the figure who took a cautious step towards her.  Of all the ghosts to walk among…</p><p>“Lexa?” she rasped. She opened her mouth to speak again, to ask how?  Why? Her words were failing her, and she shook her head unintelligently in disbelief.  Lexa took another cautious step towards her, her freed hair rustling in the soft, chilly breeze that swept past them.  </p><p>“You remember,” Lexa spoke so quietly Clarke almost worried she was going deaf from her pulse thumping against her eardrums.  She tried to nod but was rendered motionless at the sight of the woman carefully, gently advancing toward her.  Of course, she remembered, but that wasn’t the important piece. <i> Lexa remembers.</i>  Lexa, like Finn, rose from death to exist in this world, though Lexa, unlike Finn,<i> remembered.</i>  Clarke’s mind was spinning, but she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to grasp the front of Lexa’s jacket the moment she got close enough.  The fabric was slightly rough under the pads of her fingers, and Clarke squeezed it, suddenly filled with an enormous dread of herself waking up, of Lexa not being in front of her, living, breathing, <i>smiling</i>.  </p><p>Her eyes and the jacket weren’t enough for Clarke to believe Lexa was real, so she reluctantly loosened her grasp and reached a shaky hand up to touch her face.  Lexa intercepted her hand out of the air and pulled her closer, wrapping a slim, sturdy arm around her in an embrace that had a sob building in Clarke’s chest.  She buried her face in Lexa’s neck and wrapped her free arm tightly around Lexa’s midsection, their entwined hands clutching desperately at each other between their bodies, and it wasn’t until Lexa moved her arm up to steady Clarke’s shaking shoulders that she realized she was crying.  Lexa pulled away and with a steady hand, wiped each tear track meticulously from beneath Clarke’s eyes, her own eyes tracing Clarke’s face in awe.  Clarke gently detangled her fingers from Lexa and reached out to cup her face, studying her in disbelief.  Of all the ghosts to walk among, indeed.</p><p>“Is it really you?” Clarke dared to whisper, her voice cracking with fear and tears.  Lexa’s smile grew into an honest to God grin, and Clarke felt her tears return with a vengeance, rolling silently down her cheeks as Lexa valiantly tried to keep up with them.  She’d never seen Lexa smile that wide, and she’d never thought she’d get to see it at all.</p><p>“It is really me,” Lexa reassured her as she affectionately smoothed out Clarke’s flyaway hairs, her hand trailing down and letting her fingertips drag slowly along her jaw.  Clarke leaned into the touch and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the warm touch to turn cold and to open her eyes and be alone, insane, and lost in the street that was growing colder by the minute the further the sun slipped down.  It didn’t happen.  Lexa pushed gently at her chin until Clarke opened her eyes.</p><p>“How?” she breathed after a moment, her hold on Lexa impossibly tighter.  Lexa leaned closer and pressed her forehead to Clarke’s.</p><p><i>“Oso gonplei nou ste odon,”</i> she whispered, and the words washed over Clarke like waves of peace and safety despite the connotation they’d once held.  She let out a wet chuckle and shook her head in disbelief before tilting her chin up the rest of the way and closing the distance between them, pressing a soft kiss into the lips she thought she’d only dream of until the end of her days.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>Clarke didn’t come home that night.  Finn had fed Sam, unable to eat himself, and tucked him into their bed to sleep, effectively cutting down on time spent arguing about going to bed.  He didn’t have the energy to argue with the child, his mind too clouded with the confrontation from earlier to do anything but appease Sam.  He sat up on the couch and watched the hours tick by.  He wrote an apology in his mind, going over the words again and again in preparation for when Clarke walked through the door.  <i>I’m sorry for losing my temper.  I’m sorry for pushing you like that.  I’m sorry I cheated, I’m sorry I lost your trust, but I love you so much. </i></p><p>But Clarke never came home.  Finn had fallen asleep on the couch and was woken by Sam who told him his alarm wasn’t shutting up.  He was worried, she hadn’t taken her purse or her car keys, but maybe Abby had gone and found her, picked her up and brought her to stay with her and Marcus for the night to cool off.  That’s what she needed, what she said she’d needed: space to figure out what she was doing.  </p><p>Had she been thinking of leaving him?  The thought made him sick as he poured Sam’s cereal and went to get his school clothes ready.  He didn’t know what he would do if she left him and took Sam.  The image of Sam sat in day care while Clarke worked started a low burn of anger in the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to rationalize.  She wouldn’t do that; she knew how much he loved Sam.  Clarke was a good mother; she wouldn’t separate them to prove a petty point.</p><p>He helped Sam get dressed and brush his teeth and find his backpack in his mess of a bedroom, trying desperately to focus his mind on the task at hand instead of the whereabouts of his wife.  She was smart, she wouldn’t do something stupid on purpose, right?  The other night unwillingly flashed into the forefront of his mind as he started the old sedan, when Clarke confessed she’d chased a stranger across the street from their complex.  Their neighborhood wasn’t the best, and when they’d first moved in Finn wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of Clarke getting home and leaving to work at odd hours of the night, but she’d bought pepper spray and promised to park under streetlamps and years had gone by without any incident. Except now, she was chasing people and Finn couldn’t help but feel like she was out doing something reckless, exercising the rebellious streak she’d never had being a pregnant med student.</p><p>He sighed as he spotted her old green hatchback, worn from almost two decades of use, at least ten of them by Clarke herself, parked close to the building and right next to a streetlamp, as promised.  <i>She’ll be fine</i>, he promised himself and turned up the radio at Sam’s request.  <i>She’ll be fine. </i></p><p>When he got home from dropping Sam off, Clarke still wasn’t there.  He checked the bathroom, her closet and her drawers: all her things were exactly where she’d left them, she hadn’t come through while he was gone to pick up a change of clothes or a toothbrush.  He called her phone, and it went straight to voicemail.  Still dead.  By noon he was growing restless and irritated.  Maybe she’d gone in to work?  It wasn’t unusual for Clarke to pick up shifts when she wasn’t scheduled, and maybe he should find comfort in something familiar about her actions.  Finn couldn’t quite focus on the shred of comfort amongst his growing irritation, and he’d had enough sitting around waiting for her to come home.  He snatched his keys off the coffee table and headed out the door, locking them with Sam’s spare key.  If Clarke didn’t bring a key, that was her fault.</p><p>Finn peeled angrily out of the apartment complex’s parking lot.  Left to his thoughts all morning he couldn’t help but feel bitterly about the way this week had been going.  It had started out so strong, with Clarke taking time off and spending time with him and with Sam.  She’d seemed off, but he felt he saw so little of her these days that he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was off about her, so he’d chalked it up to exhaustion and stress.  She’d been working herself ragged ever since starting her internship at the hospital and beginning her Residency had only made things worse. Ever since then, it seemed to Finn that he had only seen his wife in passing.  He knew that Clarke knew what she was doing to him, and the thought only made him angrier as he sped down a familiar road.  </p><p>In his mind, he’d been the picture-perfect doctor’s husband: he looked after their child and made sure the bills got paid on time.  He made dinner every night and always set aside a plate for Clarke.  He did the laundry (usually) and cleaned the house (once a month, or two).  He kept up on things so she could focus on being a doctor.  That had been the agreement they’d made when they decided to get married, and Finn felt he’d kept up with his end of the bargain. As he sped down the road, he couldn’t help but ruminate on the life they’d shared.  </p><p>When Finn met Clarke, she was a little on the uptight side.  A responsible pre-med student.  He’d teased her and called her Princess and told her she needed to relax and be shown a good time.  She hadn’t responded well to that, so he started following her to the library and helping to quiz her on flash cards until she agreed to go out with him the Friday following her last final exam, and that summer he witnessed Clarke Griffin truly letting her hair down.  He took her to every bar he could think of and they’d danced and talked and laughed and fell in love.  Now, at 28, Clarke had all but lost the fun times he enjoyed so much during that blissful summer break, and she poured her heart and soul into the cold world that was surgery.  </p><p>At first, he was more than a willing participant to feeding into her workaholic attitude.  A huge part of him felt guilty for getting her pregnant in the middle of medical school, and he’d promised her mother until he was blue in the face that he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of Clarke’s career.  Clarke had agreed to marry him, however, despite her mother’s warnings, and he vowed to make it work.  The years had worn him down, and sometimes he felt like a single dad with only memories of the wife who was once in love with him.  She would be waking up as he was headed to bed or falling asleep just as Sam was waking up for the day.  </p><p>They had made it work for a long time, though.  During her time off they’d stay up late together, curled up on the living room sofa while Clarke told Finn some of her grossest ER stories and in turn, Finn would update her on all the misbehavior Sam got up to.  She set aside time for Sam, taking him to the park every Sunday she had off and tucking him into bed, even if she was a few minutes late out the door to read him an extra story.  It wasn’t ideal, but they did what they could, until the obstacles kept piling up. The program had become more demanding, she’d told him.  It just made sense for her to sleep at the hospital sometimes, cut down on travel time.  She couldn’t be as competitive if she didn’t pick up extra hours when they were offered.  </p><p>Finn arrived at his destination and swallowed his sorrowed thoughts.  He slammed the car door shut and sauntered into the familiar bar, empty except for a few regulars.  Not many people came to the bar at 12:30 in the afternoon.  Half of the tables still had the chairs up and all the ugly lights were on.  Finn walked up to the empty barstool next to a pretty woman with her long brown hair drawn back in a ponytail and sat down, putting his elbows on the counter and gesturing to the bartender for a drink. </p><p>“It’s been a while since you’ve met me for lunch, Finn, what gives?” the brunette quipped, turning to face him with a smirk as she munched on a French fry.  Finn gave the bartender a weary smile as he placed a double whiskey in front of him before turning to the woman.  He gave her a quick once over, smirking back at her as his eyes met her large brown ones. </p><p>“Like I knew you’d be here,” he muttered, knocking back the drink in one gulp.  He knew full well she’d be here, she’d been coming here every weekday for lunch for the better part of the past three years.  He winced as the liquid ran down his throat, leaving a warm path all the way down to the pit of his stomach. </p><p>“You look like shit,” she commented, taking a swig of her beer.  Finn rolled his eyes.</p><p>“I’ve had better days,” he said, motioning for a second drink.  “You look great, as always.” </p><p>“Flattery will get you brownie points,” she shrugged.  “I’m not going to bite, by the way.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t expect you to, Reyes,” he said, nodding in thanks to the bartender before taking a more tentative sip of his second drink.  He turned to look at Raven, who was staring at him shamelessly with, if possible, an even wider smirk.  “What?”</p><p>“Fine, I’ll bite. I’ve still got an hour to kill. Wife leave you yet?” she asked bluntly, and Finn could only grimace in response.  Clarke and Raven found out about each other in the worst way possible, a nightmare Finn relived all too often.<br/>
<i><br/>
Eight months earlier:</i></p><p>
  <i>“You called the sitter, right?” an antsy Clarke called through the apartment from the hall bathroom, cussing under her breath as she poked herself trying to put in her second earring.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What sitter?” Finn asked with a smile as he stepped behind his wife in the bathroom, laughing as she shot him daggers off the reflection in the mirror.  “Yes, she’s on her way.  There’s a concert going on tonight or something, lots of traffic.” Finn soothed, placing a kiss to the back of Clarke’s head.  “You look beautiful, by the way.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You clean up nicely yourself,” she said in an indifferent tone, but the glint in her eye and the smile on her lips betrayed her as she turned around to face him.  She smoothed out the shoulders of his suit jacket and adjusted the black bow tie he wore.  She busied herself with his collar and just when Finn thought she was going to pull the tie out and redo it for the third time just for the sake of something to work on, he grabbed her hands and placed a small kiss on her knuckles.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Relax, Clarke.  We’ve done this a million times before, and we’re going to have to do it a million more, I’m sure,” he said, giving her hands a squeeze and placing a small kiss on her forehead. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“My mom said there are going to be some huge potential investors there tonight.  If the grant goes to dermatology, so help me God,” Clarke shuddered at the thought, but was saved from her fitful imagination by a sharp rapt to the door. She immediately responded, and Finn gave her a playful swat on the ass as she hurried off to go start drilling the nightly routine into the poor babysitter’s brain.<br/>
After readjusting his tie to how he had it before Clarke started messing with it, Finn sluggishly followed out into the living room, where Sam was intently working on a coloring book at the coffee table. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Be good tonight, buddy. There could be ice cream involved if we get a good report,” Finn said, ruffling his small son’s dirty blond hair.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Clarke chastised as she stepped around Finn to crouch next to Sam.  “Come here, give Momma a kiss goodbye and goodnight.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Finn watched their son hug and kiss his mother, and before a separation tantrum could ensue, they said hurried goodbyes to the sitter, who ensured them everything would be fine, and that Sam would be in bed by 9 (he was still awake when they got home).</i>
</p><p>
  <i>When the pair arrived at the annual fundraising gala for Arkadia Memoria Hospital, the function was in full swing.  Rich people schmoozing each other as they nursed fancy cocktails, ladies in elegant gowns hanging off the arms of men twice their age, and a handful of waiters walking as quickly as they could without losing their poise or their trays of drinks.  Almost immediately, Clarke ran into someone she worked with and as soon as Finn heard bowels being casually thrown around the conversation, he mouthed the word “bar” at Clarke, who nodded and waved him off. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Finn hated these things: he hated dressing up and acting the part and he especially hated knowing he had to spend a whole evening surrounded by Clarke’s smart friends and his even smarter, bossier, mother in law.  The only thing he didn’t hate about the hospital’s fundraiser gala was the open bar, which was where he made his center of gravity year after year.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hey Finn, how’s it going?” a familiar voice brought him out of his whiskey-fueled trance, and he looked up to see Wells Jaha, Clarke’s best friend and, much to his chagrin, close coworker.  Finn mustered up a small smile and nod in response, purposely busying his mouth with another sip of his drink.  He knew Clarke didn’t have any feelings for Wells – the poor guy had been in the friend zone since age five, but he would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not recognize the everlasting crush Wells would probably always have on his wife, and that fact alone was enough to make Finn gag.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“The bar’s good this year,” Finn said politely, holding up his drink, and Wells gave him a cheery smile in response.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Great minds think alike!” Wells brought up his own freshly prepared drink next to Finn’s, apparently interested in toasting to the fact that they were both near the bar.  Finn gave him a half-assed smile and tapped his own glass against Wells’ in an equally pathetic manner.  If Wells was the jealous type, he hid it immaculately.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>For the next thirty minutes Finn nodded politely when he felt appropriate, not at all listening to Wells as he droned on about “the beloved program” and how highly he thought of Clarke and her surgical skill, blah blah blah.  Finn was on his third drink by now, and it was getting easier for him to feign enthusiasm in Wells and his boring stories.  Why did Clarke even hang around this guy?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Just as the thought crossed his mind, the familiar blonde head was in his line of vision, and he gave her a drunken smile.  Wells noticed the shift in Finn’s focus and turned around and started waving at her, and Finn breathed a sigh of relief at the absence of his drone in the back of his ear.  He set his empty glass down on the bar and stood a little straighter as his wife approached, preparing to pay Wells back for torturing him by making a show out of being married to Clarke, when he saw something that sobered him up quicker than red and blue flashing lights in his rear-view mirror.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Finn, hey, I’d like to introduce you to the genius who developed the software for the hospital’s charting system.  I’m not sure on the gritty details, but she’s made it so easy for us. Oh, hey Wells!  I’ve been looking for you!” Clarke gushed as she got within earshot.  Her face was flushed slightly, no doubt influenced by the empty glass of champagne in her hand and paired with the distraction of Wells she didn’t notice Finn’s expression of utter terror as he locked eyes with the woman Clarke had been dragging behind her.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Raven?” he half spoke, half whispered, unable to believe his own drunken eyes.  He couldn’t even manage to close his mouth.  Clarke cocked an eyebrow.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You two… know each other?” confusion crossed her features and she looked over at Raven, who looked like fire was going to erupt from every opening in her face at any moment.  Finn opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to get any words out.  He tore his eyes away from the sparks that were shooting out of Raven’s to look at his wife, who was looking between the two of them and occasionally over to Wells for any indication on what was going on.  Finn saw Wells shrug in his peripheral vision but extend a hand to Raven anyway. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Great to see you here, Raven,” Wells said in his obnoxiously polite tone, but Raven ignored him completely, still melting Finn into a molten puddle with her gaze. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Finn, you didn’t tell me you were married,” she said slowly and firmly after what seemed to Finn like a thousand years.  His mouth went dry and kept opening and closing on its own accord.  Shit.</i>
</p><p>That night had been one for the books.  It marked the last gala Finn had to go to, the last conversation he had to endure with Wells (who had, understandably, stopped being pleasant toward him), and the last time his wife looked at him like she loved him.  Finn sighed into his drink and took another swig.  He could kid himself all he wanted, blaming their shitty marriage on Clarke’s career, but deep down he ultimately knew it was his own fault.  Every time he remembered that night, he remembered the heartbreak on Clarke’s face as she put together the pieces, the anger on Raven’s when she found out he’d been lying to her too. He’d been seeing Raven while Clarke was at work for almost a year, telling himself “she never asked, it never came up,” and breaking both of their hearts in the process.</p><p>Raven refused to speak with him for four months. He’d show up at the bar (despite his better judgement) to apologize, beg forgiveness, ask to be friends, everything he shouldn’t be doing to his mistress after being caught by both her and his wife.  Eventually, her heart hardened, and Finn’s weakened, and they established a strange sort of friendship where Finn would visit her during lunch sometimes when things got too heavy, and they’d banter and talk and skirt around the fact that Finn was a cheater.</p><p>At least, until Raven asked about Clarke.</p><p>“No, not yet,” Finn sighed, focusing his attention on the empty glass in his hands as he swirled it around in his hand.</p><p>“I pegged her tougher than that,” Raven said absentmindedly, taking another long chug of her beer.  Finn groaned in the back of his mind: why, of all days, was Raven bringing up Clarke today?  He needed another drink.  He waved a third time for the bartender, who willingly complied, supplying Finn with his third whiskey double of the afternoon.  He could already feel the alcohol buzzing through his head, and as usual, it wasn’t making him feel any better. </p><p>“Pretty sure it’s against hospital policy to drink during your lunch break,” Finn retorted, eager to steer the conversation away from Clarke.  He raised an eyebrow at Raven, who responded with what sounded like a genuine laugh.</p><p>“Oh please, I could drink twelve of these and still trace all the porn sites you’ve visited in the last year, which, I’m guessing, is a lot, in ten minutes or less,” Raven was greatly amusing herself at Finn’s expense, and he could only grunt in annoyance.  “Besides, it’s my last week.  I got a new job.”</p><p>“Oh really?” Finn questioned as he propped his elbow up on the bar and rested his heavy head on his fist.  He’d been under the impression that Raven liked her job and couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault she’d sought to leave.  He wasn’t sure how closely she actually worked with Clarke, but in his mind catfights ensued.  </p><p>“Really,” she took another swig, and Finn narrowed his eyes at her.  </p><p>“I’m biting, don’t make me beg,” he stuck out his lower lip in a pathetic sort of pout, and Raven gave it a flick and rolled her eyes.  </p><p>“It’s just some unknown tech company.  They recruited me, it’s not that big of a deal,” Raven shrugged and ate another fry, adverting her gaze to her plate.  Finn’s brain screamed not to, but he put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze.</p><p>“That’s amazing, Raven.  For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you,” he said, and she smiled at her plate and wiggled her shoulder a little, and he let his hand drop into his lap.  </p><p>“Not worth much, but thanks,” Raven said, her defensive smirk back in place and Finn grinned at her despite himself.  An uneasy silence sat over them as Raven finished her fries and her drink, and Finn nursed his third double.  It was finally starting to ease into his mind and quiet some of the nagging thoughts he tried so hard to ignore.  </p><p>“Finn,” Raven said quietly, and Finn looked over at her, the movement feeling a little lagged in his brain.  “Does she know you still come here?”</p><p>Finn looked down and shook his head slightly, guilt rushing heavily back into his heart and filling up the lightness created by the easy banter with Raven.  It had always been easy with Raven, and that was the biggest part of the problem.  </p><p>“We got into an argument,” he murmured, focusing on the way the amber liquid swirled in his glass as he turned it, not keen on the discomfort of divulging his marital qualms with Raven of all people.  It didn’t feel right, and she didn’t need to know he came crawling right to her when things were tough.  But Raven was smart, and he knew as soon as she stood up and put some cash on the table what was happening next.  </p><p>“I really hope you guys can work it out, Finn,” Raven said in a tone uncharacteristically quiet, and Finn couldn’t grapple enough courage to look up from his glass of whiskey.  “I loved you, but this isn’t how I wanted love to be.”  He stayed still as she hesitated, before grabbing her jacket off the back of the barstool.  Her steps echoed on the empty wooden floor, and the opening and closing of the door signaled her exit.  Finn sighed and drank the rest of his drink in one gulp. </p><p>“Two for two,” he mumbled under his breath.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Keep the Ends Out for the Tie that Binds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How did you find me?"</p>
<p>"That is a long story," Lexa smiled softly and tugged gently on Clarke's hand, guiding her down a little side road toward a part of town Clarke hadn't yet been to.  </p>
<p>"I want to hear it.  All of it," Clarke said.  While unbelievably happy to have Lexa in front of her, guiding her through this strange new life, she needed some answers.  Their tearful reunion had been beautiful and soft, but she could only bask in the happy ignorance of a lost love in her arms once more for so long, before the pressing matter of their new existence became too strong to ignore.  She squeezed Lexa's hand for what had to be the hundredth time just to feel Lexa squeeze back, as though having to constantly prove to herself that this was all really happening.  Of all the disbelieving things Clarke had endured these past few days, she couldn't help but feel like this was the most far-fetched of them all.  Good things like this never happened, and when they did, Clarke was suspicious.  The other shoe was always waiting to drop, she was always holding her breath for the crux of the situation to take control and return everything to its natural state: misery, sadness, chaos, war.  </p>
<p>She'd needed a miracle, set out looking for an answer and was given an even more perplexing riddle.  How was Lexa here?  How was Lexa the only other person from her past who seemed to remember the horrible lives they'd all led on the ground? How long had Lexa been living like this?  Clarke studied her carefully as they weaved through parked cars along the side of a quiet road.</p>
<p>
Much of her was exactly like Clarke remembered:  poised, almost rigid, yet impossibly graceful.  Lexa's shoulders seemed a little looser, her back still inflexibly proud and straight, but something about her seemed younger, lighter.  It could be the clothing that looked so odd covering the body that Clarke had only before known to don armor, leather, and on a special occasion, formal ceremonial gowns. Lexa’s current wardrobe was a far cry from the propriety that came along with being Heda: a baggy, dark zip up sweatshirt and tight blue jeans.  Shoes not unlike the ones Clarke had found for herself on the bedroom floor back at Finn's apartment were tightly laced, bare ankles showing just slightly with each step Lexa took. As her eyes wandered back up Lexa’s form, taking a shameless detour or two, she had to force her mind away from the memory of the soft as silk black gown Lexa had donned before their passionate goodbye: she had thought of that outfit endlessly, years after the pain from thinking of Lexa had stopped becoming too much and started becoming a necessary ache, but she couldn’t let her guard down quite yet.  She’d been spoiled in her last six years of peaceful bliss with just her and Madi but stepping back into her war-tuned mind had been like putting on an old pair of shoes.  </p>
<p>"Let us get inside, we can sit and talk about whatever you would like," Lexa said over her shoulder as they took yet another turn.  Clarke had long since lost track of where they were, placing all her trust in Lexa to navigate, and the sun had set nearly all the way, covering the world in a darkness that would look entirely different come morning.  </p>
<p>"Where are we going?" Clarke asked again, pumping her legs faster to fall into stride next to Lexa. She had to work quite a bit harder than Lexa did to keep up the brisk pace they had as they strode through a well-lit neighborhood.  The first time she asked, Lexa had answered her question with another nearly identical, and gave a genuine laugh that had, in all honesty, caught Clarke off guard, when Clarke told her she was headed to the Polis Tower.  <i>"You will be walking all night and into the early morning hours."</i></p>
<p><i>“Come with me,”</i> she’d said, <i>“Stay with me tonight, we can address tomorrow together.”  </i></p>
<p>Clarke had hastily accepted the invitation, and with each step they took, excitement bubbled beneath Clarke’s skin, the taste of discovery on the tip of her tongue.  This was it, her answer.</p>
<p>
“We are here,” Lexa said as they cut through a low patch of vegetation bordering the parking lot not unlike the one Clarke had fled from earlier that afternoon.  The layout was slightly different, and the buildings had only two floors to each of them, but three buildings were spread out across the property, each serving as end points in a triangular pattern.  There were more streetlights and a large grass field stretched out in the center of the three buildings and a child's playground stood proudly in the crux of it all.  A slight twinge of guilt stirred in Clarke's chest as she wondered if Sam would appreciate something like that, and she found herself hoping he was doing all right.  As miserable as she was, she couldn’t help but feel like he was getting an awful end of this twisted, mangled proverbial stick, to no fault of his own.  She told herself that returning everything to its natural state, that getting her back to Madi and his mother back to him, would end this nightmare for all of them.  It had to.</p>
<p>Instead of a main entrance Mount Weather style door, each apartment's front door was open to the exterior world, and Lexa led her to a simple black door on the ground floor.  She chewed her lip, a sudden wave of nervousness coursing through her as Lexa pulled a little keychain from the pocket of her jeans.</p>
<p>"This is yours?" Clarke asked quietly, her heart pounding.  Lexa shot her an answering smile and pushed the door open, gesturing with an open arm for Clarke to enter.  She gave Lexa a smile of her own that tugged at her chilled cheeks and slipped inside, craving the warmth she could already feel from the doorway.  They'd been walking fast, but the night was getting very cool, and she could feel her nose and cheeks sting from the cold air.  Lexa followed her in and shut the door behind them, flipping on a light and shrugging out of her jacket like a well-practiced routine that stirred a strange, uneasy feeling inside.  Why did this seem so comfortable?  She swallowed the fear and waited patiently for Lexa to hang up her jacket in a small closet near the front door.  Clarke couldn't help but stare at the oddity that was Lexa in a loose-fitting T shirt: strange, but not dismissible.  Lexa's eyes lit up with levity as she turned back at the right moment and caught Clarke staring; she cleared her throat, folding her arms across her chest and turning away from Lexa to take in what she could see of Lexa's living quarters.</p>
<p>The space was immensely neater and warmer than Domestic Doctor Clarke’s and Finn's apartment: virtually no clutter dirtied up the polished, warm wooden surfaces.  As Lexa flipped on a few table lamps, the soft beige and warm brown tones of the room were illuminated, and Clarke had the strange urge to take off her shoes and her dirty clothes for fear of messing up the space.  She trailed her fingers lightly atop a soft throw blanket draped meticulously across the back of the sofa that faced, instead of a television, a large, proud bookshelf filled to maximum capacity with thick tomes.  A few simple paintings hung on the wall: a quaint farmhouse landscape on one side of the bookshelf, and a still life of autumn flowers mirrored it.  The space was tasteful, comfortable, and warm, but the ease at which Lexa moved around the elegance made her nerves harder and harder to ignore.</p>
<p>“I never thought I’d get to see you here,” Lexa’s voice gratefully tore the focus away from her dwindling thoughts, and Clarke allowed Lexa to step into her space.  She held still as Lexa traced her fingers lightly from her shoulders down to her arms, their fingers meeting at the end of the journey and tangling together on their own accord.  </p>
<p>“I never thought I’d get to see you again,” Clarke whispered as Lexa pressed their foreheads together.  She took in a slow breath, attempting to quiet the tumultuous thoughts wreaking havoc in her head.  One more moment, she decided.  They deserved one more moment together, one more moment that wasn’t tinged with goodbye or the imminent threat on the survival of humanity.  Just another minute where they owed nothing but time to each other.  </p>
<p>One moment passed, and then two, and Clarke stopped counting.  They stood still with each other and the world seemed to pause for them as they stood, breathing each other’s air and clutching hands so tightly Clarke could feel her own palms grow sweaty, but she felt her resolve cracking deeper with each light puff of Lexa’s breath she felt on her lips.  She kept her eyes shut tight, unwilling to betray herself with the desperation that would surely show in them, the hunger she suddenly felt growing for the woman who held her hands like she’d never let go.  </p>
<p>Lexa did let go.  She released one of her hands only to slip it around her waist and clutch, almost desperately, at her hip, and Clarke’s willpower extinguished in the heat that spread slowly from the flat of Lexa’s palm against her to directly between her legs.  She gasped sharply, and they moved at the same time, lips meeting in a mixture of breathy sighs and soft whimpers.  She would steal a thousand minutes more to cherish the feeling of Lexa’s lips on hers, kissing her with a devotion she’d never previously experienced.  They’d never had enough time to begin with, and Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to care for minutes, hours lost to one another as she let go of Lexa’s strong grasp to slowly work the soft fabric of Lexa’s T shirt up her abdomen, only breaking away from her lips to tug it over her head.  </p>
<p>Clarke slowly trailed her eyes upward, drinking in the exposed flesh free of scars, marks, and tattoos that looked so foreign but felt so familiar.  Their eyes met and the tender expression in Lexa’s bored straight through to the most vulnerable part of Clarke’s heart.  Their eyes remained locked together as Clarke pulled her own sweatshirt off and tossed it carelessly to the ground.  It only took three beats of her pounding heart for Lexa to close the distance between them again, and Clarke’s skin was lit on fire where it pressed against Lexa’s, the flames only spreading as the rest of their clothing was removed, piece by piece, without urgency or concern for anything other than feeling more of each other.  There was no race to the finish, no harrowing goodbye looming over their heads at the end of this encounter.  There was nothing bittersweet this time about finally having Lexa pressed against her so beautifully, and the thought only spurred Clarke on to be that much closer.   </p>
<p>Six years of longing and desire slowly built Clarke’s touches up from delicate and sweet caresses to passionate grasps and nonverbal pleas, and at the precipice of her patience she guided Lexa as gently as she could down to the ground.  Spread across Clarke’s dirty jeans and nudged up against the back of the sofa they moved together in the soft lamplight of Lexa’s apartment.  The passion built slowly but surely, and Clarke found herself all consumed with Lexa.  </p>
<p>Soft skin and wild brown hair bombarded all five of her senses.  She admired the way the light shadowed the curves and dips of Lexa’s lean muscles and felt how her abdomen twitched and clenched beneath feather light touches.  She breathed deeply the musky scent of them together and couldn’t resist tasting, relishing in the soft moans and heavy breaths that poured directly into her eardrums as she pushed Lexa over the edge.</p>
<p>Clarke could only enjoy a few moments of tender serenity, watching Lexa as she caught her breath before Lexa pounced, grappling control of the situation, and Clarke felt her body light up again at Lexa’s attentive ministrations.  It could have been hours sped up to a ruthless pace or it could have been minutes passing slowly before Clarke felt the familiar, almost forgotten sensation of being wound up so tightly only to snap and utterly break at the complete mercy of Lexa, her own cries involuntarily filling the silence of the apartment.  Her eyes had closed, and when she opened them Lexa was hovering above her.  Though her face was shadowed by a long curtain of hair, Clarke could clearly see bright, misty eyes studying her face with such affection that she couldn’t stop the sob that rushed uncontrollably through her chest as she was completely overwhelmed with the sheer emotion radiating off Lexa.</p>
<p>Lexa, to her credit, never faltered.  She gathered Clarke into her arms and held her close despite their sweat slicked skin sticking together and shaky legs awkwardly tangled.  Clarke buried her face into the crook of Lexa’s neck, focusing on the way her face was tickled by a rogue strand of hair with every inhale to calm her racing heart. </p>
<p>“God, I’m- I’m sorry, I just,” she started, her voice raspy and hoarse, but Lexa shushed her gently.</p>
<p>“There is nothing to apologize for,” Lexa spoke into her mussed hair, stroking long, delicate lines on the bare of Clarke’s back.</p>
<p>“I’ve – Lexa, I’ve missed you so much, I don’t even know what to say,” Clarke’s voice trembled as she pulled away from Lexa’s neck, but she kissed Lexa again, tasting her own salty tears on Lexa’s swollen lips.  </p>
<p>Lexa pulled away after a moment, the seriousness of her stoic features betrayed by the slight wrinkle on the corners of her mirthful eyes.  “We don’t have to talk at all, Clarke.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>The early morning sun paired with a stiffness in Clarke’s back served as a wake up call the following morning.  She found herself sprawled out across a carpeted floor, naked except for the blanket she was tangled in.  The events of the previous night came crashing back, bringing a flush to her chest and a worry in her heart as she whipped her head around, searching for the woman to blame for the involuntary wince as she sat up.  The apartment was still and quiet, and the worry and anxiety Clarke had ignored in favor of making up for lost time with Lexa well into the night was returning with a vengeance.</p>
<p>She stumbled to her feet, kicking away the blanket that Clarke vaguely remembered Lexa pulling from the top of the couch to drape over their tired bodies.  Her clothes were missing from the vicinity and she grumbled to herself and grabbed the blanket to wrap around her torso.  </p>
<p>“Lexa?” she whispered, squinting and blinking as a sharp ray of fresh morning sun sneaking through the blinds bombarded her eyes, still tired and sticky from deep sleep.  She peered around a corner into the small kitchen that was, much like the rest of Lexa’s apartment, clear of clutter and invitingly warm, even draped in the cool tones of an early, quiet morning.  She pulled the blanket around herself tighter as her bare feet hit the cool tiled floor.  No Lexa.</p>
<p>She made her way back through the living room, wearily creeping through the quiet space as she headed for the dark hallway, lined with three doors shut and one ajar.  Though her fingers itched to turn the knobs and discover the rooms hidden behind the closed doors, her body made the decision for her to head into the bathroom.  She flipped on the light and shut the door behind her, unreasonably self-conscious at the thought of Lexa catching her in such a vulnerable state.  She dropped the blanket and used the toilet as quickly as she could manage, the cool air being much more unpleasant with nothing to shield herself.  She washed her hands quickly and scanned the bathroom counter as she ran her tongue along her teeth.  Two toothbrushes sat in separate cups at opposite ends of the counter, and Clarke froze mid-reach for the first one.  Did Lexa have a roommate?  Had she, like Clarke, woken up into this reality chained to another?  </p>
<p>Her eyes trailed up to her reflection and was unable to resist an audible groan.  Her neck and chest were littered with small bruises, evidence carried over from the previous night, as though she needed anything more than the soreness to prove the reality to her.  </p>
<p>A foreign creak sounded from the other side of the bathroom door and Clarke tore the blanket from the ground and wrapped it over her shoulders tightly, toothbrush conundrum long forgotten, as she pushed open the bathroom door and peered outside.  At the end of the hall she saw the lithe, graceful form of Lexa, clad again in her dark hooded sweatshirt and carrying a small bag, pass across the opening of the hallway and disappear into the kitchen.  She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and hurried off toward her.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Clarke,” Lexa greeted, looking about a thousand times better than Clarke felt.  Her hair was pulled back, braided how she always had it in many of Clarke’s memories, and her skin looked fresh and clean.  Clarke ran a bashful hand through her own tangled locks and tore her eyes from Lexa’s face to the bag she’d set on the kitchen table.  </p>
<p>“I brought you some breakfast, I thought you might be hungry,” Lexa said as she pulled two wrapped pastries out of the bag, laying them each out on a napkin she’d set on the table.  Clarke’s stomach angrily growled at her in response: she hadn’t eaten at all yesterday and wanted nothing more than to devour both of whatever it was Lexa brought.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” she said instead and reached a hand out of the blanket to pull back a kitchen chair.</p>
<p>“Oh, Clarke, I am so sorry I didn’t leave you something to wear.  I am washing your clothes,” Lexa hurried out of the room and Clarke frowned at the empty space where Lexa used to be.  That was a sweet gesture, but… <i>shit.  </i></p>
<p>“Lexa!” she cried, the taste of bile rising in her throat as she rushed off after Lexa, down the hallway.  “There was -- I had something in the pockets of my pants!” she called out as she hurried down the hallway.  One of the previously closed doors was open now, at the very end of the hall, so Clarke headed toward it, her shoulder knocking against the doorframe as she hurried inside.  The first thing she noticed was Lexa, bent over and shuffling through the bottom of a chest of drawers.  Lexa looked up, almost startled, and Clarke took a step back as she noticed the room itself.  </p>
<p>The room was sparsely furnished with the basics: a bed, a chest of drawers, and a small desk with a chair pushed into it.  The color scheme was neither vibrant nor monochrome, and the carpet was a fluffy-looking dark brown.  The furniture didn’t stand out, it was the walls.  The walls in their entirety were covered in black and white photos, clippings of what appeared to be newspaper articles.  She could faintly see the light blue paint of the walls from beneath the layers of what had to have been a tedious endeavor to cover up every available space with –</p>
<p>“Is that… Nia?”  Clarke frowned, squinting her eyes as she took a few cautious steps into the room and leaned closer to examine a nearby photo.  The backdrop was the unmistakable proud form of the Polis, or Polaris, tower, and Nia stood in front of it, behind a pedestal and microphone.  Her finger was in the air, and a headline beneath the photo read “Snowe Slashes Allegations.”</p>
<p>She skimmed through the other headlines clearly visible without having to move her head.  They were all correlated to Nia in some way.  She still carried a menacing presence; Clarke could tell as much through the grainy photo, even without her scarred face.  Had Clarke not looked so deeply and with so much hatred into those eyes, she might not have even recognized her with the way her hair hung down in loose, perfect curls, or the form fitting dresses she wore. </p>
<p>“You were looking for these?” Lexa’s voice sounded from behind her, quiet and calm.  Clarke tore her eyes away from a photo of an unscarred Roan standing proudly between his mother and Ontari, the shitty little nightblood that never failed to make Clarke’s blood boil, to look at the items Lexa was pushing toward her.  On top of a neatly folded set of flannel pajama pants and a dark colored shirt were all the items Clarke had been stuffing in her pockets these past few days.  The loose key and the credit cards were carefully resting atop the photograph, still folded from being in her pocket.<br/>
She breathed out a low sigh of relief and took the stack from Lexa, albeit awkwardly as her elbows clung to her sides to keep the blanket in place.  </p>
<p>“Thank you,” she said genuinely, but Lexa’s eyes did not meet hers.  Instead, they stared directly behind her at the photo Clarke had been looking at.  The look in her eyes was sharp and focused, and Clarke was reminiscent of a time a world away, when determination and duty shone bright enough to light up an entire room.  She radiated a voltaic energy that naturally gravitated the respect of those around her, and Clarke shuddered as she carefully laid her pocket items on the newspaper covered desk.  </p>
<p>The mood had shifted between them.  No longer was it tentative and endearing, but an electricity was zapping between them, fueled by the intensity at which Lexa watched without seeing as Clarke dropped the blanket and slid on the soft and clean clothes Lexa had offered.  </p>
<p>“What’s going on, Lexa?” Clarke asked as she pulled her hair out from the collar of the shirt.  It was dirty and greasy – she was dirty and greasy, but hygiene was sinking lower and lower on her priority list.</p>
<p>“I do not think it is a coincidence our paths have crossed again,” Lexa said, her posture rigid and businesslike, and Clarke felt her throat tighten.</p>
<p>“How did you find me?  You were following me – why didn’t you stop the other night, in the parking lot?” </p>
<p>“I had to be certain it was really you,” Lexa said, almost gravely.  Clarke furrowed her brow – who else could it be?  Wait.</p>
<p>“Right.  Doctor Clarke,” Clarke said almost absently as she focused on the pieces starting to fill in blanks in her mind, and Lexa nodded in affirmation.  Had Lexa seen her before?  Had Lexa sought her out?  </p>
<p>“Wait,” Clarke paused, the wheels turning quicker now.  “You met Doctor Clarke?”  Lexa nodded again, slower.  </p>
<p>“How… how long have you been here, Lexa?” she asked, though the irreverent thump against her ribcage warned her she wasn’t going to like the answer.  Lexa was settled: she had a bedroom lined with a creepy archive of the Ice Queen’s life in this new reality, she dressed casually, she had a comfortable routine in a home, and she found a lost and impulsive Clarke.  She was living with apparent ease a life drastically different than the one Clarke had known her in. </p>
<p>“Six years,” was the answer, and Clarke had to clutch at the desk behind her to keep her whirling head from getting the best of her.  <i>Six years</i>. Clarke had lived this reality for less than a full week and felt like crumbling under the pressure of pretending, but Lexa had been living this life since… well, since she was gone in the other.  </p>
<p><i>No</i>, she scolded herself,<i> not possible.  You have to get back to her.  Madi needs you. </i> Another thought nagged at the tendrils of actuations she kept feeding herself, another question begging for an answer.  If there was a way out, shouldn’t Lexa had found it by now?  Surely, in the six years she must have done <i>something </i>other than learn to live a new life and follow the media trail of the Ice Queen.  The tingle of heartache stung Clarke as she imagined Lexa, alone and scared, confronting Doctor Clarke with hope only to be a stranger.  She knew it couldn’t have been helped, but she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of turning Lexa away.  She pushed the thought aside, beyond tired of the subtle emotions this new world attempted to madden her with.</p>
<p>“This is our second chance, Clarke,” Lexa said quietly, too simply for the storm of thoughts ravaging Clarke’s mind.  Clarke turned to look at her, confusion splayed across her face.  </p>
<p>“Second chance for what?” she pressed, her low voice as shrill as she had ever heard it.  Lexa’s, however, sounded… complacent, grateful, in awe of their position, and Clarke couldn’t accept that.  She didn’t belong here, she had someone to get back to.</p>
<p>“To do better.  To fix old mistakes, to prevent new ones from unfolding… To be more than just survivors,” Lexa supplied, and a small smile still turned the corners of her lips, but some of the excitement had slipped from her eyes which instead were slowly clouding over with concern, as though Clarke was missing the punch line.  Clarke continued to stare at her, silently pleading for Lexa to elaborate.</p>
<p>“I am sorry for what must have happened to you, but I do not think it is a coincidence you are here now,” Lexa said, reiterating the theory Clarke had ignored, and Clarke shook her head and stepped away and back towards the bedroom door, pushing some distance between them.  What Lexa was implying made her empty stomach turn nauseatingly, and she shook her head adamantly. </p>
<p>“No,” she said, shaking her head again.  “No, that’s not what happened.  I just got – I just got shocked.  I have to get back, Lexa.”</p>
<p>Lexa stared at her for a long moment, and Clarke put a steadying hand on the doorframe.  She grasped tightly to the wood, feeling her nails depress into the layers of paint, feeling sicker the longer Lexa stared at her with an expression akin to pity. <i> Say something</i>, she pleaded with her eyes, flicking her gaze back and forth between Lexa’s.  Lexa moved towards her slowly, as though giving Clarke the opportunity to stop her.  She couldn’t move even if she’d wanted to.  Lexa gently pried her white knuckled grip away from the wall and clasped Clarke’s hand gently in both of hers, softly running circles over the top of her hand with  her thumb and she looked down to study the movement, to keep her eyes anywhere from the genuinely pained, saddened expression that had tied up Lexa’s features.</p>
<p>“It gets easier, I promise,” Lexa finally whispered, and Clarke adamantly shook her head and found the strength to pull her hand away, stepping back from Lexa once again.  </p>
<p>“No,” she whispered.  “I can’t accept that.  I can’t--,” the rest of her words died in her throat. Clarke had to get back to Madi, she had to get back to her life to save her daughter, she had that motivation, but... what would Lexa get back to?  Lexa had died, Clarke had witnessed it, once in reality, and a thousand times over in her nightmares.  She'd seen the light leave her eyes; she'd seen Titus remove the Flame... </p>
<p>"You must be hungry,” Lexa said softly.  She looked like she wanted to reach out to Clarke again, but thought better of it, taking her hands and clasping them behind her back in a way that made Clarke ache for a long lost time that was looking further and further from her grasp with each passing breath.  “Come, our breakfast will be getting hard,” Lexa said simply, and Clarke wanted to cry out in frustration.  She was hungry, starving even, but eating felt like a luxury she could indulge in after she had Madi in her arms again, after her stomach could stop twisting and turning with all the realizations.  </p>
<p>“No, wait,” Clarke said, catching Lexa’s arm as she made to move past Clarke and into the hallway.  Lexa stopped, almost obediently.  “I can’t.  I need more answers,” she stood resolutely, gesturing to the walls of Lexa’s room plastered with the newspaper clippings.  Lexa looked at her for a moment then gave an acquiescent nod.</p>
<p>“This world is not so black and white as our own, Clarke.  There are more temptations, more choices, more paths to take and get lost on.”</p>
<p>At Lexa’s statement Clarke frowned.  From what she’d seen, the shadiest character had been Lexa.  Everyone she’d met had been so… soft, so preoccupied with trivial issues.  </p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” she said, folding her arms tightly across her chest and watching as Lexa moved toward one of the articles on the wall, peeling it carefully and passing it to Clarke.  She didn’t take it in her own hands but inched closer to Lexa to read.</p>
<p>“Nia owns Polis?” she asked.  “So what?”  Part of her was crushed at the revelation.  If the Ice Queen, albeit likely a different version of the wicked woman, owned the bank, then it probably wasn’t going to be holding any of the answers Clarke was looking for.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you are familiar with how dangerous power can be in the wrong hands,” Lexa supplied, pushing the article back to the wall.  </p>
<p>“Yes, but there’s not a war going on.  These people don’t remember that kind of life,” Clarke argued.  Lexa nodded in agreement but walked across the room and pulled down another sheet of paper.  This one was white, and the material held out for Clarke to read wasn’t as flimsy.  She skimmed the contents, her brow furrowing.  </p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” she repeated herself, skimming again the words that, while terrible, held little meaning to her.  The page referred to horrendous acts made possible by illegal buying and selling of other human beings, and Clarke was eerily reminded of the way Mount Weather coerced and captured to survive.  This world, as far as she knew, was not operating under a radiation related crisis. </p>
<p>“The evil in Nia’s soul has carried over.  This world, like I said, has more paths to take.  She has taken a more discreet, yet just as terrible path in her quest for power.”</p>
<p>“I think I’m missing something here,” Clarke said, running her hands along her face.</p>
<p>“Three years ago, I saw the article in the newspaper that Nia had purchased the tower.  I was irritated that she, too, was getting a second chance after all the terrible things she had done,” Lexa took the white paper from Clarke and set it on the neatly made-up bed.  </p>
<p>“So Nia remembers, too?” Clarke interrupted, and Lexa shook her head.</p>
<p>“She does not, but experience has told me that her soul is inherently capable of terrible things.  I was curious about how she amassed enough fortune to purchase such a large institution.”</p>
<p>“Lexa,” Clarke groaned and moved to flop into the chair in front of Lexa’s desk.  She was failing to see how this was more important than the little girl waiting for her, and her patience with Lexa’s obsession with Nia was dwindling.</p>
<p>“The world did not see Nia the way I knew her.  They still are blind to the threat she is.  They do not know what she is capable of.”</p>
<p>“And you do?” Clarke couldn’t help the snark in her tone.  She felt bad for pushing away what Lexa had obviously invested a great deal of time and energy into, but she didn’t feel she had any of her own to spare.  </p>
<p>“She buys and sells people, Clarke.  Humans, women.  She trades them like merchandise for fortune and disguises her success in business, banks, legitimate work.  She distributes them like livestock and lives like a Queen for the price of someone else’s life.”</p>
<p>“So, you’re taking it upon yourself to tell everyone?” Lexa shook her head and took a seat on the bed opposite the chair.</p>
<p>“My position is unique and valuable in the sense that I know what I’ve always known, though no eyes are upon me.  Speaking out would damage that.  Besides, it took me two years to finally get to the bottom of Nia’s fortune.”  Clarke could only gape.  Lexa had spent so much time devoting herself to this: was it something she truly believed in, or was it something she was grasping at to fill her time, give this life as much purpose as it had in the first?</p>
<p>“That’s a long time to look for answers,” Clarke said quietly, her own fears projected into the comment.  Lexa gave her a sad sort of smile.   </p>
<p>“It was, and it didn’t help that I was at a disadvantage.  I did not know how to operate the tek this world runs on, but Anya showe—”</p>
<p>“<i>Anya</i>?” Clarke repeated, tearing her hands away from rubbing at her eyes to look at Lexa dumbfoundedly. <i> Anya was here, too.  Another ghost.</i>  Clarke’s insides squirmed.  The pieces of this puzzle coming to light were beginning to stack up against her, in favor of Lexa’s theory.</p>
<p>“Yes.  Anya, too, is getting the second chance she deserves, but she is not plagued with memories as we are,” Lexa supplied.  Is that what this was?  Torture for her sins, to die and remember all that she was missing?  They’d all done things on the ground they couldn’t be proud of.  Finn had massacred an entire village, yet he was blissfully unaware.  Clarke shook her head.  </p>
<p>“That doesn’t add up,” she concluded defiantly, and Lexa sighed.  </p>
<p>“It was never Anya’s duty to bear the weight of her people on her shoulders,” Lexa said stiffly, almost as though she was growing as frustrated with explaining this to Clarke as Clarke was trying to focus on anything other than finding Madi.  “But once you carry that weight, it never goes away.  You know that as well as I do.  These people are suffering, their families are suffering, and we are equipped with—"  </p>
<p>“My people aren’t here, Lexa,” Clarke said, pushing herself from the chair.  Lexa stood up as well and took a step toward Clarke.</p>
<p>“This is not for your people just as this is not for my people.  This is about seeing something wrong in the world and having the ability to correct it.”</p>
<p>“This isn’t our world,” Clarke snapped.</p>
<p>“Then why are you here?”  Lexa’s tone tinged her question with bitterness and anger, and had Clarke pausing, opening and closing her mouth.  Why <i>was</i> she here?  Her only thought since arriving had been to get back, to find her way back to Madi.  She hadn’t thought beyond that, hadn’t dug up a reason for her sudden presence in this twisted reality.  Lexa sensed her hesitation, her lack of a solid answer, and struck.</p>
<p>“My Costia is here,” Lexa said, and Clarke’s eyebrows rose in shock, and her heart hammered in a jealous sort of hurt that she hadn’t felt in years.  Had hers been the second toothbrush?  Guilt and shame crowded the hurt in Clarke’s heart, morphing into a singular anger that flared at the unknown expression in Lexa’s eyes.  How dare she make love to Clarke on her living room floor while another woman, the original keeper of her heart, was in this world, too, presumably alive and well?  Lexa did not startle at Clarke’s scowl, only pummeled on.</p>
<p>“My Costia is here, but she, like Anya, does not have memories of pain to torture her.  There is a lightness in her that could not have existed in our world.  It was too dark for her, but here, she shines,” Lexa said, and Clarke’s heart clenched.</p>
<p>“Why are you telling me this?” she growled, though her voice was smaller than she’d like it to be.  </p>
<p>“I am telling you this because the worst mistake I ever made, second to leaving you at the Mountain that day, was allowing Costia to suffer a death she did not deserve.  Nia is dangerous here, Clarke.  Perhaps even more so because she sins and sins in the blind spot of the public eye, and they celebrate her, praise her, because they do not know of the crimes she commits.”</p>
<p>Clarke swallowed roughly, sick chills crawling up and down her spine at the confession.  The passion in Lexa’s eyes shone through, and Clarke understood.  She understood Lexa’s desire to help, to prevent others from enduring the pain she had endured at the hands of Nia.  She understood the guilt that Lexa carried, propelling her to supply the world with justice that she had given them once before, but rendered null in light of their new environment.  She understood the ache in Lexa’s eyes and could not imagine carrying the burden of that knowledge alone.  She understood, but still Madi called her.  The image of Madi from her nightmare shone brighter than the imagery Lexa had painted in her mind’s eye.</p>
<p>“Lexa, I need to go home,” she said after a moment, her voice small.  “I need to get back.  It’s not just me anymore—”</p>
<p>“It’s never been just about you, Clarke,” Lexa spoke in a modulated tone, though Clarke picked up on the strain behind her controlled words.  “I remember you once told me that you didn’t ask for this.  The fact that you’re here, again, same as me, proves that the world is asking this of you.  Answer the call.  Redemption is on the horizon.”</p>
<p>“Do you have a plan?  Do you have some kind of army I don’t know about?”  </p>
<p>“I’ve had the luxury of time to plan the perfect attack.  I will not need an army, I only need to get in the same room as her, alone,” the determination in Lexa’s gaze sent chills through Clarke, and she shook her head.  This was what she had been trying to avoid: getting involved in the dramatics of this universe, but Lexa had planted herself right in the center of some of the inner workings of the society, and she was pulling Clarke in with her.  Clarke sighed.</p>
<p>“What are you expecting to <i>do</i> to her?  I don’t see any spears lying around,” she said, and Lexa smirked at her. </p>
<p>“You’ve seen me fight, Clarke.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>They’d stopped chasing her.  Madi crouched behind a tree, out of breath and running on adrenaline, but they’d fallen back.  She angrily kicked away a stone at the missed opportunity.  Bear traps galore just ahead, and they’d fallen back.  She let out a low huff and leaned against the tree.  That had been her best idea, and now she was back to square one.  A loud crack of noise drew her attention away from the myriad of half-ideas running through her mind.  She looked up toward the night sky, but the tree cover was thick.  She grunted as she hopped, grabbing onto a low-hanging branch and pulling herself up.  She didn’t have to climb far to see the object hurtling toward the Earth.  It was bright and impossible to miss, but another ship was falling from the sky.</p>
<p><i>Clarke waits six years for a ship to fall and now we get two in one day.  Typical,</i> she thought to herself and steadied her feet on the branch before edging towards the end, watching with narrowed eyes as a smaller ship rushed toward the ground at an alarming speed.  This had to be it.  Damn, she was lucky.</p>
<p>Madi leapt off the branch and hit a patch of dirt clear of plants or rocks, and took off at a run, hopping logs and sidestepping stones on her way to the clearing she and Clarke used to play soccer in until she’d accidentally sliced their old, ratty leather ball on a bear trap.  It wasn’t her fault.  Excitement was rivaling the fear in her heart as she skidded to a halt behind a tree.  It was dark, but she could make out the shapes of five figures, a tall man with curly hair and a gun leading the pack.  There was supposed to be seven of them, but she could see even from the distant view of his shape, he looked just like Clarke’s drawings.  She really didn’t have any other options at this point, anyway.  She leapt over the tall roots sticking out of the ground and hurried to cut them off before they reached the trees.  </p>
<p>She hadn’t meant to scare them, but she really couldn’t blame them for being on their guard, and she stood tall as the guns were lowered almost as soon as they were raised, a gruff voice defending her.</p>
<p>“She’s just a kid.”</p>
<p>It was dark, but even in the pale moonlight she could see the confusion on five fresh faces.  It was strange seeing someone else besides Clarke, but that wasn’t important now.  Clarke needed her.</p>
<p>“Bellamy?” she asked, already knowing the answer.  “Clarke knew you would come,” she scurried closer as Bellamy’s expression furrowed.</p>
<p>“Clarke’s alive?” he asked, and Madi could have rolled her eyes at the way a whole world of realization was basically crushing him right before her eyes, but there wasn’t time.</p>
<p>“She’s in trouble.  We have to go,” she hurried out.  Why couldn’t they have come yesterday?  Or the day before?  Or maybe even a year ago when they were supposed to?  That way she wouldn’t have had to endure Clarke’s moody, longing looks into the sky day in and day out.  The other man of the group stepped forward.  Had to be Monty.</p>
<p>“What about the others in the bunker?” he asked, and Madi glanced at him before turning her gaze back to Bellamy.</p>
<p>“Still there.”</p>
<p>“What?” Poor Bellamy was really confused.  “No, no.  How can that be?” </p>
<p>“I’ll explain on the way,” she said, reaching forward to grab Bellamy’s hand and giving it a sharp tug, as though she could pull a full-grown man with her own strength.  Thankfully, he responded quick enough, and she set off through the forest, trying to be mindful of the troupe following her that didn’t know where she was going and didn’t have every tree, stick, and bush memorized the way she did.<br/>
As they ran, Bellamy caught up to her.  </p>
<p>“What do you mean everyone is still in the bunker?” he huffed next to her, and she glanced sideways at him.</p>
<p>“The tower collapsed,” she said simply.  She saw Bellamy’s mouth open to press further but cut him off before he could begin.  “We’re almost to the rover.”</p>
<p>He gave her a curt nod and they moved the rest of the way in relative silence.  The moment it was in sight, Madi darted ahead, her courteously slow pace forgotten as she ripped the driver’s side door open and clambered in.  To their credit, the others weren’t far behind.  Bellamy got in the passenger’s seat as the other four squeezed into the back.  Madi glanced over her shoulder at them as she revved the old engine to life.  She saw Bellamy shoot a questioning look at one of the women in the back as the rover started to roll across the rough terrain.</p>
<p>“I’m Madi,” she supplied, taking pity on the stunned group of adults.  </p>
<p>“What’s going on with Clarke?” Bellamy asked in response to her introduction, and Madi gripped the wheel tighter and filled him in to the best of her ability.  Intruders came, she was told to hide, and Clarke pulled out their guns.  Clarke shot them and now they had Clarke.  She tried to lead them through their summer hunting grounds but they pulled back.</p>
<p>“Then, I saw you guys and knew it had to be you,” she concluded, glancing at Bellamy to her side.  He turned sideways in the seat, glancing at each person in the back seat before his eyes landed on Madi.</p>
<p>“They’re prisoners from the Eligius mission,” he said, as though that explained anything.</p>
<p>“No idea what that means,” Madi said, twisting the wheel as the rover made a sharp turn, knocking Bellamy and the passengers in the backseat off balance, but Madi plummeted on.  </p>
<p>“We boarded their ship.  Raven and Monty are still there.  We’ve got something on them, trust me,” Bellamy said, and Madi could only nod and do as he said, trust him, because at this point, she’d exhausted all her resources.  </p>
<p>“So, what do we do?” she said eagerly, her eyes focused on the rough terrain.</p>
<p>“I go talk to them.  You all stay here.  Back the rover up as soon as I get out – we don’t want them to feel cornered.”</p>
<p>“What?  Bellamy, no.  We’re not leaving you alone with them,” a woman from the back spoke up, and Madi glanced at her in the dark rear-view mirror.  She had pulled herself forward and was pinning Bellamy with a harsh glare.</p>
<p>“Echo, please.  Trust me.  We’ve got enough leverage,” Bellamy insisted, and Echo opened her mouth to retaliate right as they pulled up into hers and Clarke’s own private village.  There were big, burly men with guns the size of Madi standing all around and the place was already trashed, and it made Madi sick to see her home desecrated in a matter of hours.  The lights from the rover shone on a group of people gathered around something on the ground, and Madi grabbed the handle of the door.  </p>
<p>“Madi, no.  Take the rover back.  That’s the plan,” Bellamy said, and Madi shot him her most intimidating look. “I won’t let anything happen to Clarke.  I promise.”  Madi gave a slow, subtle nod and shifted the rover into reverse as Bellamy opened the door.  As it shut behind him, she released the brake, her eyes never leaving the armed crowd of people as the rover started inching back.  Madi recognized the woman they’d seen first standing up as Bellamy approached with his hands up, despite all the guns pointed at him.  The crowd shifted, and in the headlights Madi caught a glimpse of familiar blonde hair, dirty on the ground and attached to a body in a crumpled heap.  </p>
<p>She slammed her foot on the brake as Bellamy dropped his hands and ran toward Clarke.  He collapsed to his knees and crawled the rest of the way to her, and Madi felt her heart sink.</p>
<p>“No,” she mumbled, shifting the rover into park.</p>
<p>“Madi, stay here!” one of the women said, and she felt a hand grasp her shoulder from the back of the rover and she shrugged it off, prying the door open with fumbling hands.  </p>
<p>“She needs a doctor!” the newly familiar gruff voice called out, and Madi had a sick feeling about the pain laced in his tone.  She left the door open and charged forward, vaguely registering the sounds of the back doors of the rover opening and shutting behind her.  </p>
<p>“Madi!” the woman called.  She wasn’t sure which one of Clarke’s friends it was, and she didn’t care.  Her shadow bounced along the grass as she ran to the church.  Through her muffled, panicked ears she could hear the Prisoner Woman telling her people not to shoot.</p>
<p>“Clarke!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside Bellamy who had Clarke’s head cradled in his lap.  With shaking hands Madi reached out and grabbed her hand.  It was still warm, but her breathing was shallow, her mouth slack and unmoving.  </p>
<p>“What the hell did you do to her?” Bellamy growled as he gently laid Clarke’s head back in the dirt.  Madi crawled up and took Bellamy’s place next to Clarke’s head.  <i>Still breathing.  She’s still breathing,</i> she chanted in her head.  She put trembling hands on either side of Clarke’s face as Echo caught up to them, taking up an aggressive stance right beside Bellamy.</p>
<p>“Stand down,” the Prisoner barked at her people, who snarled and cackled and spat at the newcomers, but still did not shoot.  </p>
<p>“Not our fault your little girlfriend couldn’t handle a little shock therapy,” a slimy voice spoke out, and Madi closed her eyes tightly.  </p>
<p>“Bellamy, you’re unarmed,” Madi could hardly hear Echo’s voice; she had addressed Bellamy so quietly it was background noise to the cussing and shuffling of the army that had taken over their home, taken Madi’s life from her, <i>hurt Clarke.</i></p>
<p>“You’re going to get your doctor out here right now,” Bellamy’s words carried over all the background noise, and Madi looked up and opened her eyes at the sounds of rushed footsteps headed in her direction.  It was the tattooed one from Bellamy’s dropship, who could only be Emori.  She crouched down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders.  </p>
<p>“Emori?” Madi whispered, and the woman nodded quickly and kissed her head, wrapping her further in a protective embrace as Madi clutched tighter yet to Clarke, who looked no closer to waking up than she did a minute ago.  </p>
<p>Bellamy and Echo were standing defensively in front of her, effectively blocking her visual on the Prisoner Woman.  Clarke’s friends had surrounded them without thought for their own safety, and Madi’s throat felt tight.</p>
<p>“What makes you feel like you can waltz in and give orders?” Prisoner Woman’s voice projected well over the human shield, and Madi watched Bellamy’s back intently as he raised his hand, holding some kind of mug that she hadn’t noticed him carrying before.</p>
<p>“Now, where did you get that?” the woman’s voice was tinged with amusement.</p>
<p>“If you don’t get me your doctor right now, your army will be 283 men lighter.  By the looks of things, that’s the majority of your forces,” Bellamy spoke clearly, his articulation slow and controlled.  Madi held her breath.</p>
<p>“Shaw,” she spoke.  “Our new friend here claims to have our people.  Check on that.”</p>
<p>“Do we have a deal?” the danger in Bellamy’s gravelly voice shook Madi, and she had to turn her attention to Clarke, unable to endure the painstaking showdown.</p>
<p>“I say we just kill them now,” the greasy voice sounded again, and she felt Emori wrap her tighter as Echo moved subtly closer to Bellamy, both of them standing so stiffly they seemed to be breathing about as heavily as Clarke.      </p>
<p>“Calm down, McCreary.”<br/>
The crackling of a radio sounded, and Madi strained her ears to hear.</p>
<p>
  <i>“He’s telling the truth.  Somehow they blocked the remote access to the cryo-room and the pods.  We can’t wake anyone up.”</i>
</p>
<p>“I don’t know how you got on my ship, but if anything happens to any of my people--,” the woman started, the previous enjoyment gone.</p>
<p>“Nothing will happen to them as long as we can make a deal.  Get me a doctor.”</p>
<p>“Looks like you’re between a rock and a hard place.  Our doc’s dead,” she said, and Madi bit her lip hard to distract herself from the panic building.  She hovered a hand over Clarke’s mouth.  She was still breathing.  She would be okay, she had to be.  </p>
<p>“Then help us get to ours.  You’re miners, our doctor is trapped in a bunker.  You do that, I’ll let your people go.” </p>
<p>“And then what, happily ever after?”</p>
<p>“That depends on how quickly you can get that bunker opened.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>“I’ll go in first with Diyoza.  Then, we lower Clarke down,” Bellamy addressed the group of five surrounding him.  Emori, Monty, and Harper nodded, but Madi and Echo started protesting immediately.<br/>
“We don’t know how they’ll react to an outsider.”</p>
<p>“I’m going with Clarke!”  Madi glared between Bellamy and Echo who seemed to be having an argument with their eyes, and Bellamy was spared from her wrath as Diyoza approached the group, effectively drawing Bellamy and Echo’s gaze away from each other.  </p>
<p>“Are we ready?” she spoke cheerily, but Madi couldn’t resist scowling at the woman.  She trusted her about as far as she could throw her, but they needed to get Clarke to her mother, the doctor.  Madi understood that, she swore she felt more desperately about it than the others, but the way Diyoza looked at them and at her home made her skin crawl. </p>
<p>Bellamy nodded and moved to the harness, readying himself to be lowered into the freshly opened bunker.  Madi turned away with a huff and shrugged Emori’s hand off her shoulder, heading over to where Clarke’s body was on a stretcher, wrapped in an Eligius blanket and looking still and pale.  She knelt gently next to the stretcher and watched the sporadic and shallow rise and fall of Clarke’s chest.  Madi had insisted Clarke ride with them in the rover, and Bellamy had valiantly offered to drive so she could sit in the back with Clarke.  She didn’t trust his ability to navigate through the woods, but when Monty assured her that he’d made the trip a million times, she relented.  Since then Clarke’s breathing had seemed more strained, the color drained from her cheeks, and a nasty red bruise had formed on her neck where the prisoners had put the shock collar on her.  </p>
<p>“You’re up, Madi,” Harper’s gentile voice broke her amateur medical analysis, and Madi stood, nodding gratefully.  She glanced around for the rest of the group as two of the prisoners picked up Clarke’s stretcher and began attaching it to the crane.  Harper and Monty were beside her, guiding her gently toward the harness, while Emori looked desperate to keep busy as she shuffled around in the back of the rover.  Echo was pouting off to the other end of the opening to the bunker, and Madi took a deep breath and climbed up to where the rope met the stretcher, careful not to jostle Clarke’s still body.</p>
<p>
The descent was anything but smooth, and Madi clung tightly to the rope as they were lowered into the bunker she and Clarke had painstakingly tried to uncover for years.  They’d camp out in the rover during the cooler times of year and try to figure out a way to uncover the large concrete slabs that kept her friends and family trapped, but one year after a particularly nasty shift in stability caused a slab to land just inches away from Madi’s foot, they stopped going.  </p>
<p>She looked down and saw a dark-haired woman embrace Bellamy. <i> Octavia!</i> She thought excitedly as they lowered, through the thrilling feeling suck as they did further into the bunker.  It smelled of iron and sweat, and… <i>was that blood?</i>  She stiffened and put on a brave face, though instinctively inching protectively closer to Clarke.  She felt all eyes on her as they hit the ground with a rougher ‘thump’ than Madi thought was safe for Clarke in her current state, and she peered quickly around.</p>
<p>They were in some sort of area, chain-linked fences stretching all the way to the tall ceiling, and hundreds of gaunt, dirty-looking people were watching carefully.  It was so quiet for such a large crowd, a stark contrast from the noisy, crass prisoners she’d found herself partnered with.  Her cheeks burned at all the curious eyes on her, so she turned her focus to the much smaller group gathered around the blood-stained concrete floor.  A bloodied man with dark hair and a long beard was standing back from the group, his gray shirt hanging off his body making him look skinny and frail.  There were a few others who seemed to make it a point to stay in the shadows – guards, likely, and Octavia, who had red paint all over her face, was staring at them with a blank expression.</p>
<p>“And who are you?” Octavia spoke coolly, her voice rougher than Madi had imagined it.  </p>
<p>“I’m Madi kom Louwoda Kliron Kru,” she spoke proudly as she stood from the stretcher, but Octavia stiffened.  </p>
<p>“O, we need Abby.  Where is she?” Bellamy said as Octavia kept her gaze glued to Madi, an unknown question lingering in her eyes as she ignored Bellamy’s request.</p>
<p>“Bring her to medical, I will get Abby.  <i>Nou!</i>” a dark skinned fierce looking woman stepped forward, and Madi quickly dodged two strong-looking warriors with Sangedakru markings as they bent to lift Clarke’s stretcher.  </p>
<p>“I’m coming with,” Madi said to the woman, who gave her a long, cold look, before nodding once.</p>
<p>“Keep up,” she spoke stiffly, and Madi nodded, scurrying off after the troupe of strangers into the cold, dark depths of the bunker.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Sin for a Sin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bunker was dark and cold and Madi felt like the musty, stale smell was seeping into her hair and clothes.  More people than she ever remembered seeing were crowding through the hallways, gathering up the items they’d need for excavation, but Madi only squirmed in her seat in the hallway outside the medical wing.  Most of the passersby eyed her wearily, or curiously, but Madi kept her gaze straight ahead, her ears trained to the sound of the swinging door.</p>
<p>Clarke’s mother, the doctor, and another man she’d heard called Jackson had met them at the medical bay.  Madi had been surprised to see Clarke’s mother: she was gaunt and emaciated, her body frail and her movements seemed shaky and sporadic.  That wasn’t at all how Clarke had described her, but she supposed six years was a long time to live in such a dark, cold place where everyone seemed tense and on edge.  They hadn’t allowed her to follow into the medical wing despite her protests, and the fierce-looking woman, Indra, had barked in Trigedasleng for someone to bring a seat out for her to wait in.  Madi was grateful, but Indra had stalked off as soon as the orders were received.  </p>
<p>A tall woman with dark blonde hair had arrived with Abby and Jackson, and it was her who Madi saw when the door swung open after what felt like hours waiting in worry.  She offered Madi a smile that felt too sad and crouched next to the chair.  </p>
<p>“How is she?” Madi pressed eagerly, turning to sit sideways on her chair to face the woman.  </p>
<p>“Abby and Jackson are doing everything they can,” she spoke, and though her voice was simple and soft, Madi couldn’t help but bristle at the non-answer.  She seemed to sense Madi’s hesitation, and asked, “What is your name, little one?” </p>
<p>“Madi kom Louwoda Kliron Kru,” she said, and the woman’s lips stretched into a soft smile, a real one, that eased some of the tension in Madi’s neck.</p>
<p>“Ai laik Niylah,” she returned.  “How do you know Clarke?”  </p>
<p>“We found each other.  After <i>Praimfaya,” </i>she chose her words carefully.  Clarke had warned her about this, they’d rehearsed what she was to say, but the lie hadn’t yet been told and already felt too heavy on her tongue.  Why would Clarke lie to her friends?  She knew why, she just didn’t like it.  Clarke was worried about her being pushed into the position of Commander, as potentially the last natblida.</p>
<p>
They’d first started discussing it about two years ago, when Clarke started preparations for her friends to arrive from space.  They’d cleaned out all the houses in Shallow Valley and decorated each one with her friends in mind.  <i>“I have a weird feeling that Raven will have killed Murphy, but just in case, we’ll make this one his.”</i></p>
<p>Clarke had explained to her that when the seven others arrived, it would be easier to concoct a plan to get the bunker opened, and when that happened, they would have to be careful.   </p>
<p><i>“I could be a great warrior, Clarke!”</i> she’d said in retaliation, waving around her homemade sword out of sharpened sticks.  Clarke had rolled her eyes, but Madi could tell she’d been trying not to smile.  </p>
<p>“You just have to live long enough to take care of me when I’m old, that’s all I ask,” Clarke would say whenever Madi had tried to bring it up, but she was always serious about sticking to the story.   </p>
<p>“How did you survive?” Niylah asked the question everyone would be asking.  She knew the question was coming, but role playing through giggles with a too-serious Clarke and facing the confrontation head on in the real world were two entirely different beasts.  She wished more than ever that Clarke were here to help her.</p>
<p>“Clarke made me a nightblood like her.  It’s just been the two of us,” she felt a little better rounding off the fib with a morsel of truth.  The woman let out a soft “hmm” but said no more, and Madi had to wonder if her lie was entirely believed.  She watched as Niylah stood carefully and rummaged around in a worn, scrap-fashioned apron that hung low on her hips and had seen better days. </p>
<p>“She is one of the bravest women I have ever known.  You are lucky to have found her,” she said, producing a small black figure from the apron’s pocket and held it out to Madi.  She wearily looked up at Niylah who nodded encouragingly, before reaching out to take it.  Niylah offered her another soft smile before she headed off down the corridor, disappearing around a corner.  Her fingers ran across the smooth surface.  It was a panther, delicately carved.  She had a feeling Niylah had meant something by it, but the significance was lost on her.  If anything, it was just a comforting weight in the palm of her hand.</p>
<p>The hallway had cleared out considerably since Madi had started waiting, she assumed everyone had been brought up to the ground with the prisoner’s crane by now.  Everyone except Abby and Jackson, who had yet to emerge.  Madi grew impatient and stood from her chair.  There was a small window in the swinging door but even standing on her toes, she was not yet tall enough to steal a glance.  Just as she was grabbing the chair to drag it over to the window, the sound of footsteps down the hall ricocheted off the walls, and two figures appeared around the corner.  Bellamy and Octavia were walking quickly, side by side.</p>
<p>“I don’t trust them,” she heard Octavia say, and she saw Bellamy’s jaw set.</p>
<p>“I don’t trust them either, but I need you to trust me.  We have leverage,” Bellamy’s deep voice rolled easily off the stone walls as Madi pushed the chair back where it belonged and sat down.</p>
<p>“What kind of leverage?” Octavia asked, and Bellamy’s eyes met Madi’s.</p>
<p>“Madi,” he spoke and hurried toward her, crouching down by the chair much like Niylah had.  The worry was evident in his face as his eyes jumped between hers.  She tore her eyes away as Octavia approached.  The girl under the floor with red on her face that made her look even more badass than Clarke’s drawings was standing two feet in front of her, and Madi would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t feel a little starstruck.  </p>
<p>“Hello again, Madi,” Octavia spoke, and her voice sounded different, less harsh than it had when she’d first seen her.  Madi could only nod back in greeting, suddenly at a loss for words face to face with the hero of so many of her bedtime stories.  The girl under the floor who saved humanity, who won the last conclave without even being a nightblood.  She had so many questions, and in her dreams of meeting Octavia, she’d always been able to ask them excitedly.  She didn’t feel like she could be excited about anything until she knew Clarke was going to be all right.</p>
<p>“Have you heard anything?” Bellamy asked, and she shook her head, eyes still trained on Octavia as she slowly walked around to the front of Madi’s chair.</p>
<p>“I heard you survived six years of radiation.  What’s your secret?” Octavia asked, resting her hands on her thighs as she leaned forward, and Madi felt a chill up her spine that she didn’t feel when Niylah had asked.  She knew instinctively that it was more important for Octavia to believe her than Niylah.</p>
<p>“Synthetic nightblood, like Clarke.  She used her bone marrow,” Madi said, keeping her eyes locked with Octavia.  Octavia studied her for what felt like a moment too long, before standing upright and breaking their stare.</p>
<p>“You’re lucky Clarke found you,” she said, and Madi nodded eagerly.  Bellamy had stayed quiet through their exchange, and he got her attention by placing a gentile hand on her knee.</p>
<p>“We’ll take good care of Clarke, okay?  Do you want to get something to eat?” he asked, and Madi shook her head adamantly.  She wasn’t moving until she could see Clarke.  </p>
<p>As if answering her silent prayers, the door to the medical bay opened again and Dr. Jackson stepped out, his mouth set in a grim line.</p>
<p>“Blodreina,” he said, nodding his head to Octavia, before turning his attentions to Bellamy and Madi.  “Bellamy, Madi…,” he trailed off, and Bellamy was quick to stand up.  </p>
<p>“What’s going on, Jackson?”  Jackson hesitated, glancing again in Madi’s direction.</p>
<p>“We have her on the ventilator.  We’re going to continue to monitor her but… she’s not responsive to light or pain.  She has no gag reflex, not responsive to other stimuli.” </p>
<p>Bellamy seemed to inflate with agitation, though when he spoke his voice was relatively well-controlled with a dangerous edge.</p>
<p>“Layman’s terms, Jackson,” Bellamy’s gravelly tone left no room for argument, and he folded his arms across his chest.  Madi chanced a glance over to Octavia, to Blodreina. She stood stark still, her hand resting almost comfortably on the hilt of her sword, and she was watching the interaction expressionlessly.  </p>
<p>“It’s too soon for a concrete diagnosis. We’re going to run some tests again in six hours, and Niylah and myself will check on her every three to four.  If her breathing doesn’t get better on her own, if she doesn’t show any signs of responsiveness… I can’t rule out brain death.”</p>
<p>A bucket of ice could have fallen on Madi’s head as those words echoed through her mind and she wouldn’t have known it.  No.  <i>No, no, no, no…</i></p>
<p>“No!” she cried, unsure on when her thoughts began to verbalize, but the next thing she knew she was pushing and kicking out of Bellamy’s grasp and fighting her way through the doors to medical.  The room was quiet save for the slap of Madi’s boots against the tile, and a foreign whooshing noise that sounded an awful lot like mechanical breathing would sound.  Clarke was the only patient, and she looked small and fragile in a bed hooked up to machines, a mask covering her nose and mouth.  Abby had draped her frail body over Clarke’s legs in the bed, but looked up, startled, at the sudden intrusion.</p>
<p>Madi paid her no mind and didn’t stop running until she skidded to a halt at Clarke’s bedside.  Tears were dripping out of her eyes on their own accord, and she could feel snot doing the same from her nose.  She aggressively wiped at her face with the sleeve of her shirt as she studied Clarke’s lifeless face. </p>
<p>“Wake up!” she screamed, grabbing on to Clarke’s shoulders and shaking them with all her might.  “Wake up, Clarke!  I need you!” </p>
<p>She prayed to anything that would listen for Clarke’s eyes to open, to scold her for shouting indoors, to grumpily wake up anyway.  She wanted to rip the mask away from Clarke’s face and force her to talk, to say something, to explain why she felt she could leave Madi like this, right when they were getting her people back.  Damn the prisoners for landing on their land, damn them for hurting Clarke and taking away Madi’s home, Madi’s person.  </p>
<p>She hadn’t registered the scuffle of feet behind her as she continued to scream and plead at Clarke, her tears and snot mixing as they streamed down her face.  Two sets of strong hands were grabbing her, one prying her hands away from Clarke, another wrapping around her middle and hoisting her up, physically carrying her away from Clarke.  </p>
<p>She kicked and fought but the arms only wrapped tighter around her, trapping her arms to her sides.  Without the physical outlet for her pain and fear, sobs began to wrack Madi’s body as she felt her energy deplete.  Her shoulders slumped as she cried, and the arms changed from a restraint to a hug, and she twisted in the arms and came face to face with Bellamy as he collapsed to his knees, his own teary eyes level with hers as he wrapped her in a tight hug.  She buried her face in his neck and he rubbed her back as her body shook and heaved with the sobs emitting from her exhausted mouth.</p>
<p>
“I know, Madi,” he whispered.  “I know.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>“A controlled electric shock shouldn’t cause this.” The voice sounded like Monty.</p>
<p>“Her head could have hit the ground.  She has other bruising and lacerations,” Jackson responded.</p>
<p>“Still.  It doesn’t seem right,” Bellamy was here, too.</p>
<p>Madi kept her eyes shut tight and wrapped the foreign, scratchy blanket tighter around her body.  Even though her eyes were closed, she could tell the room was dark.  In an underground bunker with no windows, she didn’t know if that held any indication as to what time of day it was.  She was tucked into a bed in the med bay next to Clarke, having exhausted herself hours earlier over… what Dr. Jackson had said.  She could still hear the faint beeping and the breathing sounds of the machines, though the hushed voices were close enough to pick up what they were saying. </p>
<p>“Where do we go from here?” That was Echo.  Her voice seemed stronger than the other’s.  Madi thought she heard Jackson sigh, but the machine breathing for Clarke let out a rhythmic hiss right at the same time.</p>
<p>“I can’t justify using the resources we have for much longer, but Abby wants to observe her for another day.”</p>
<p>Silence washed over the room save for the machines, constantly reminding Madi of Clarke’s state.</p>
<p>“Let me know if anything changes.  Otherwise, I’ll be back in a few hours to check on her,” Jackson finally said, and Madi followed the sound of his footsteps over to the door, and it wasn’t until it swung shut that someone spoke up.</p>
<p>“He’s on Octavia’s side,” Harper said softly.</p>
<p>“They’re all on Octavia’s side,” Echo sounded bitter.  </p>
<p>“Do we even have another day before Octavia pisses the prisoners off enough to blow up the entire bunker?”  Bellamy sounded frustrated and scared, and Madi felt bad for shoving her knee into his stomach.</p>
<p>“We can’t seriously be sitting around waiting for Octavia to start another war,” Echo said incredulously.  </p>
<p>“She’s already started it.  Wonkru is marching on Shallow Valley at first light,” Monty’s voice was so much softer than the others, Madi almost didn’t catch what he was saying.  Her heart pounded at the thought of war breaking out at her home.  It was bad enough when the prisoners came, she couldn’t imagine…</p>
<p>“What about Madi?” Emori’s voice rang through, and Madi held her breath.</p>
<p>“Clarke would want us to take care of her,” Bellamy said resolutely, and Madi bit down on her lip as hard as she could.</p>
<p>“She said Clarke made her a nightblood, but how did she survive long enough for Clarke to find her?  Shallow Valley isn’t anywhere near Becca’s lab,” Emori said, and Madi felt her heart clench.  Clarke had seemed fine with her friends knowing the truth.  She trusted them, trusted Bellamy.  </p>
<p>“We don’t know where Clarke found her, okay?” Bellamy insisted.  Madi understood why she trusted him.</p>
<p>“Emori’s right.  Octavia could see her as a threat to the Red Queen regime she has going on,” Echo scoffed.</p>
<p>“She’s just a kid,” Harper offered, but Echo was quick to shut it down.</p>
<p>“If Wonkru finds out there is a true <i>natblida</i>, they will want her to take the Flame,” Echo said darkly.  “I think she should.  A true commander could overthrow Octavia and—”</p>
<p>“Do you really think it’s fair throwing an untrained kid up against an army of prisoners with energy weapons, not to mention Blodreina?” Bellamy retorted.  “She’ll throw her in the fighting pit.  She has Wonkru wrapped around her finger.”</p>
<p>“All of this Wonkru bullshit would collapse under a true Commander,” Echo argued.  “She wouldn’t need to overthrow her.  The Flame is sacred, the people respect that.”</p>
<p>“Bellamy’s not wrong.  Octavia has a strong following of all the clans, Skaikru included.  You saw Miller, he won’t even talk to us.  I doubt he would be as willing as the Grounders to follow a Commander,” Monty spoke up again, and Madi decided she liked him if only for the energy he put off.  </p>
<p>“Something happened down here, Bellamy.  None of them are the same,” Harper added, and she heard Bellamy’s heavy footfalls as he paced. </p>
<p>“Understatement of the year.  We bide our time, then. See how Clarke’s… we’ll see where we are in twenty-four hours.  Monty, you keep trying to get in touch with Raven.  Harper, Emori: keep an eye on the situation here.  Echo… stay out of sight.  I’ll try to talk some sense into my sister.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>Finn’s buzz from the bar had faded quickly and was replaced with a splitting headache and a bruised ego.  He’d picked up Sam from school and brought him back home to a still empty apartment, everything exactly as he’d left it.  Clarke hadn’t come back, and his annoyance was starting to be replaced with the initial guilt and worry he’d felt after their argument.  Abby wasn’t wrong.  He shouldn’t have lost control on her like that, he shouldn’t project his insecurities onto her.  He let out a groan and pushed her purse away from where he’d been looking through it, checking to see if she’d at least brought her wallet.  She hadn’t.</p>
<p><i>She must be at Abby’s</i>, he’d concluded, though he couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d be able to stay there without cracking.  Clarke and her mother had always had a complicated relationship that he usually tried to stay out of unless it concerned him.  Even then, he knew that it had been with a heavy heart that Clarke had admitted working alongside her mother was going to be the best for her surgical career.  </p>
<p>“Daddy?” a small voice broke into his mental ramblings and he took a deep breath before turning to his young son, standing almost shyly in the kitchen door.</p>
<p>“What’s up?” he asked, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears.  Sam shuffled his shoes against the linoleum, watching them with intent as he spoke.</p>
<p>“Is Grandpa Marcus mad at us?”  Finn frowned at the question, pushing himself from the table to approach Sam. </p>
<p>“Of course not, why would he be?”  Sam shrugged his shoulders and pulled from behind his back a green construction paper card, folded in half, ‘Happy Birthday’ written in a nearly illegible color of crayon, and Finn’s heart collapsed.  They hadn’t gone to Marcus’s birthday dinner.  He knelt in front of the young boy and gently took the homemade birthday card, feeling sicker and sicker with himself as he looked over the terrible drawing of a dinosaur and the sloppy “I love you” sprawled across the entire half page of the inside.  </p>
<p>“We forgot his birthday,” Sam sounded near tears, and Finn shook his head and shut the card, pulling the boy to his chest.  </p>
<p>“He’s not mad, Sammy.  I promise, he loves you so much,” Finn spoke against the head of messy blonde hair.  </p>
<p>“Can we bring him his present?” Sam’s voice was muffled against his shirt, and Finn sighed, preparing himself for the tantrum that could potentially ensue when he explained that no, they couldn’t go over to Abby Devil Griffin-Kane’s house, when an opportunistic idea popped in the forefront of his mind.  It would be risky approaching the lair of an angry beast, but the potential rewards outweighed.  </p>
<p>“Sure, I bet he’ll like that.  Get your jacket,” Finn said, and returned Sam’s beaming grin that met him as his son pulled away.  As Sam rushed off to get his jacket, Finn moved quickly.  He darted to the master en suite to brush his teeth and run a comb through his hair.  He picked through the laundry basket he knew to be clean and dove back in after accidentally dropping a glob of toothpaste from his mouth on his first successful find.  A spritz of the cologne Clarke had bought him for Christmas three years ago and two ibuprofen tablets later, he was ready to go. </p>
<p>He let Sam ride in the front seat and they made a quick detour to the grocery store where Finn picked up a moderately priced bouquet of flowers and a piece of candy for Sam, then piled back in the car for the ten minute drive to the Griffin-Kane residence.  </p>
<p>Finn had always liked Marcus.  He was a fair, kind man and never tried to fill the role of father in Clarke’s life.  As far as he knew, she secretly liked him too.  She hadn’t corrected Sam when he started calling Marcus his Grandpa, and she even admitted once that her mother “could’ve done worse,” but Finn liked him.  His presence always helped tone down the high-tension atmosphere of the two Griffin women, and when it got too overpowering, he’d invite Finn out to the back porch for a beer.  As much as he liked Marcus, he couldn’t deny the ulterior motive he had for this unannounced visit to the two-story Dutch Colonial style home with the large front yard and the Mercedes-Benz SUV in the driveway.</p>
<p>He felt his luck turning around as he pulled onto their street: the Benz wasn’t there.  His nerves calmed a little at the knowledge he wouldn’t have to deal with any remarks or stares from his mother-in-law, and he parked by the curb in front of the house and grabbed the flowers, passing both cards to Sam for safekeeping.  He straightened his hair in the window of his car and hurried off after Sam, who was already up to the door and ringing the bell probably more times than necessary.</p>
<p>They didn’t have to wait long for Marcus to answer the door, and Finn watched on as Sam all but leapt into Marcus’s arms, singing a rendition of “Happy Birthday” modified to account for their tardiness in celebrating.  </p>
<p>“This is the best birthday surprise I could’ve gotten!” Marcus exclaimed to Sam, and Finn smiled despite himself as Marcus’s gaze fell to him.  “Finn, it’s good to see you!  Come on in you guys, let’s see if we can finish the cake before Grandma gets home and tells us how bad it is for us,” he winked at Sam, and Finn ran a nervous hand through his hair as he followed Marcus and Sam inside, shutting the door behind him.</p>
<p>“Are these for me, too?” Marcus asked jovially, gesturing to the arrangement in Finn’s hands.  Finn shot him a wry smile.</p>
<p>“Actually, I was hoping to have a word with Clarke?” he asked hopefully.  He knew Marcus, like him, tried not to get between Abby and Clarke when they were arguing, but over the years he’d never picked one side or another when it came to Clarke and Finn’s marital drama.  At least, not in Finn’s presence.  He couldn’t imagine Marcus starting now, but the frown that tugged his mouth down behind his beard was concerning.</p>
<p>“Clarke isn’t here, Finn,” Marcus said, and Finn’s heart stuttered.</p>
<p>“Do you… know when she’ll be back?” he asked sanguinely, but Marcus remained puzzled.</p>
<p>“I haven’t seen Clarke since Abby’s birthday last month,” Marcus said slowly, and Finn’s heart began to hammer.  Where the hell had she been, if not here?  Marcus gave him a questioning sort of look before Sam caught his attention and dragged him off to the kitchen.  Finn set the flowers down on the hallway console table and ran his hands through his hair, his mind racing for an answer.  It wasn’t unlike Clarke to be unreachable for a few days on end, but at the same time it wasn’t like her to leave behind personal effects or tell Finn she was going to be working.  She’d never hid her schedule from him, and the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t remember ever feeling like she was hiding anything from him at all.</p>
<p>The conversation from the previous day rolled through his mind.  She was bothered by something and didn’t feel like she could tell him.  Come to think of it, she had been acting a little strange, but Finn had chalked it up to stress at work.  He’d be stressed too if Abby was constantly barking at him about work the moment he got home.  Finn wandered into the front sitting room and dropped into one of the expensive, uncomfortable leather sofas.  Space.  She’d asked for space, to figure things out.  Where was she getting this space?  Finn’s insides churned uncomfortably, as his mind jumped straight to the worst-case scenario.  Flashes of his wife tangled up in another man’s arms, in another man’s bed, dominated his thoughts and he tried to push them out, he really did, but what else could she be doing?</p>
<p><i>No</i>, he chastised.  <i>Clarke wouldn’t do that.  She doesn’t have time for an affair. </i> He just had to look a little closer at his wife, put himself in her shoes.  He’d find her.</p>
<p>“Sorry to crash and run, Marcus, but we have to go,” he announced the moment he stepped into the kitchen.  Sam and Marcus were laughing together, empty plates with remnants of frosting in front of them.  Sam immediately groaned, and Finn tried his best at imitating Clarke’s ‘behave’ look, but it was Marcus who shushed the small boy.</p>
<p>“Grandma and I were thinking of taking you to a movie this weekend, how does that sound?” Marcus said, shooting Finn a look.  “Give your parents a chance to spend some time together.”</p>
<p>Finn shot Marcus a guilty, yet grateful look, and ushered Sam as quickly as he could out of the house, wishing Marcus one last happy birthday and a promise to see him in a few days.  At the door, Marcus caught Finn on the shoulder.  </p>
<p>“Let me know when you track her down?” he asked quietly, and Finn gave him a stiff nod, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him.  </p>
<p>Marcus and Sam waved at each other until they drove out of sight, and Finn drove as quickly as he could back to his apartment.  Once inside, he scrambled to the living room and pulled open a drawer of Sam’s coloring supplies and slapped them on the coffee table unceremoniously.  </p>
<p>“Daddy’s got to make a few phone calls.  Stay out here, okay?”</p>
<p>Without waiting for confirmation that Sam understood his directions, Finn darted off to his bedroom and shut the door behind him.  He pulled out his phone and shakily typed in a name he’d actually never called before.  “Please answer, please answer,” he muttered as the dial tone started.  Four rings, then five.  “Come on, stop being a dick for two seconds.”</p>
<p>“Finn?” Wells Jaha’s kind voice, tinged with confusion and disappointment, answered, and Finn could have cried in relief. </p>
<p>“Wells, hey buddy,”</p>
<p>“Finn.” </p>
<p>“Right, sorry.  I was just wondering if Clarke’s staying with you.  I can come pick her up, I know you’re probably working a lot and she didn’t bring her car or anything, I know she’s probably a little irritated with me right now but maybe you could tell her I called and—”</p>
<p>“What are you talking about?  Clarke’s missing?” the worry was evident in Clarke’s best friend’s usually even tone, and Finn’s heart sank.  </p>
<p>“You haven’t seen her?” he said weakly.  </p>
<p>“Not since the beginning of the week.  Then she stopped showing up to work, but Abby said she’d talked with her about that.”</p>
<p>“She didn’t say anything to you about taking some time off?” Finn asked in disbelief.  Wells was, realistically, Clarke’s only friend, and if she didn’t tell him anything either…</p>
<p>“Not at all.  Listen, I’ve got to go, but I’ll keep my eyes out.  Keep me posted?”</p>
<p>“Right, yeah, of course.  Thanks,” Finn mumbled, hanging up the phone and throwing it at the bed.  <i>What the hell are you hiding, Clarke? </i></p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>“So let me get this straight,” Clarke began, wadding up the used napkin that had carefully wrapped, yet poorly preserved, the breakfast pastry Lexa had retrieved hours earlier.  Clarke’s brain felt like it was going to explode with all the information Lexa had just fed her.  Tales ranging in adventure from mastering the art of the city’s bus system to spending days on end hanging around Polis, waiting for a glimpse of Nia or Roan.  “You saw Nia leave the building with some guy --”</p>
<p>“He was an ambassador once for Azgeda,” Lexa reminded her, and Clarke nodded.  </p>
<p>“Right, so you followed them--”</p>
<p>“I followed him.  Nia is elusive and always surrounded by hired personnel.”</p>
<p>“And he led you to...”</p>
<p>“The house.”</p>
<p>“Right, the house.  With the broken windows,” Clarke recalled, and Lexa gave a sharp nod.  “So did you actually see him... take someone?”</p>
<p>Lexa sighed and shook her head.  “I could only see what I could see from across the street, but he stayed until very late in the night and when he left, he left alone.  He came back the following day with a different vehicle, and when he left a young woman left with him.”</p>
<p>“Was she bound?  Gagged?” Clarke questioned, her brow furrowed at Lexa.  She admired the tenacity, but she couldn’t help but feel like Lexa was looking for a problem to solve, grasping at any connection Nia had to anything remotely immoral in order to justify unleashing two lifetimes of pent up resentment.  </p>
<p>“No, but she needed support to walk and had a hood on.  I couldn’t see her face,” Clarke chewed her lip thoughtfully, watching Lexa as she watched back, unmoving.  </p>
<p>“How did you know it was a woman?” she asked.  She didn’t want this to be real.  She wanted to poke holes in the plot Lexa had drawn for her, to prove to her that this existence wasn’t a second chance, wasn’t an opportunity to correct wrongs missed the first time around.  There were too many.  Clarke herself had made too many critical errors.  It would take more than one second chance to wash all the blood from her hands.  No, she wanted this to be Lexa chasing her tail around the mystery she built and crafted and lost herself in.  She wanted Lexa to be wrong.  </p>
<p>“Her legs,” Lexa answered, the ghost of a smirk on her lips.  Clarke rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the couch.  </p>
<p>“How many times did you say this happened?”</p>
<p>“I witnessed several similar exchanges in other locations.  Never the same place twice in a row, but the ambassador did return to the first location at least three times,” Lexa followed Clarke’s lead and stood from the sofa.  She began to walk back down the hallway, motioning over her shoulder for Clarke to follow.  She sighed, but obliged, tugging the sleeves of her freshly laundered and still warm sweatshirt over her hands.  </p>
<p>In the bedroom, Lexa had opened a drawer at the desk and pulled out a thick stack of papers that made Clarke’s head hurt to think about Lexa painstakingly handwriting each and every page. Lexa’s small, neat writing glared back at her as she leaned over her shoulder to read.  Dates and times, locations, number of days in between visits.  Lexa had kept detailed records of each one of her stakeouts.</p>
<p>
“Lexa...” she said softly, trailing off as her eyes skimmed down the column that described each woman to the best of Lexa’s ability.  Light or dark skin, any hair color visible, approximate age, approximate height compared to the one escorting her (it wasn’t always the ambassador).  Far too many were classified as “insufficient lighting” and Clarke’s heart clenched.  </p>
<p>“So how is Nia related to this?” she asked when she felt like her voice worked again. </p>
<p>“Each of these men,” she ran her finger down the column indicating who was involved in the exchange, “I witnessed speaking with Nia or one of the members of her entourage at least once, barring Roan.  Tailing his interactions has never given me a lead.”</p>
<p>“Have you told anyone else about this?” Clarke asked after a moment of staring at Lexa’s notes in silence.  She slowly tore her eyes away from the paper and brought them up to trace the profile of Lexa’s face as she stared just as intently at her own notes, almost as if she hadn’t heard Clarke, but she could see her jaw flex underneath the hollows of her cheeks.</p>
<p>“This world is lenient when it comes to punishments for crimes,” she spoke so lowly and quietly that if Clarke hadn’t been staring at her lips as they’d moved, she might have mistaken it for her own thought.  The air was thick between them, heavy with the realities of the horrors Lexa had uncovered, stifling with the resistance Clarke met it with, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare to breathe as she watched Lexa from the side, her own face less than six inches from Lexa’s almost statuesque form.  </p>
<p>“If I turn these men in,” Lexa tossed the paper on the desk and stood up abruptly.  Clarke had to jump back to avoid an uppercut from Lexa’s shoulder.  “The end result would be no different than if I keep killing them.  Nia replaces them.  I must stop this problem at the source, and I must stop it myself because if I turn her over to the police, to the public, Nia will live.  She’ll be a prisoner who is fed and sheltered, and her wealth will afford her amenities she cannot get in the grave,” Lexa snapped her head to the side to look at Clarke, who had stepped back several feet and was gaping, dumbfounded at the outburst.</p>
<p>“You were right for our world, Clarke.  We benefitted from blood must not have blood.  It was good for us to show compassion, to exercise restraint when it came to the harsh punishments.  I learned that there are fates worse than death, but the same rules do not apply here.  This society is so twisted, so perverse, that Nia is immune to allegations,” Lexa reached over and ripped the article off the wall that Clarke had been looking at earlier and tossed it to the ground.  </p>
<p>“She has been accused of keeping poor profit records.  Of being vague about the sources of her income.  Do you know how she got out of it, Clarke?” Lexa asked, and Clarke snapped her mouth shut and shook her head twice, unable to tear her eyes away from the smoldering, passionate figure who was slowly advancing on her.</p>
<p>
“She lied.  She <i>lied</i>, and <i>everyone believed her</i>.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>Forty hours.  It had been forty hours since Finn had seen or heard from Clarke.  He’d spent another fitful night on the couch, waking at every car door slam from the parking lot, every neighbor walking down the hall, and there was still no word from Clarke.  He’d gone back and forth between telling himself that Clarke was an adult, she can demand and take space when she needs it and convincing himself she was in a sick sort of danger.  He’d fallen asleep in the early morning hours, and both he and Sam had overslept for school.  </p>
<p>Sam was excited for the day off, and Finn didn’t want to leave in case Clarke showed herself, but the morning dragged into the early afternoon, and Finn felt his options dwindling.  He needed reinforcements.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>“I didn’t know who else to call,” Finn groaned pathetically as he opened the door to the smug faced Latina, arms crossed across her chest.  She narrowed her eyes at him but pushed past him into the apartment.</p>
<p>“I know I’ve said it before, but you sure know how to make a girl feel special,” Raven snarked back as lightly as she could manage.  In all honesty, she didn’t know why she answered.  She was a little bored, and maybe a little bit lonely, and a small part of her wanted to find Finn’s missing wife in bed with someone else and watch him get a taste of his own medicine, but that was just a very small part.</p>
<p>
She glanced around the space quickly, her eyes flitting to the clutter heaped around the small living room, making it feel even smaller.  It was her first time at Finn’s place, which really should have been a red flag.  He’d always had a perfect excuse, and the way he’d raved about her studio apartment had made her wonder if he’d lived in a hotel with five other guys.  The apartment didn’t look too far off from that, though, and if it weren’t for the wedding pictures of Finn and Clarke lying around that made her mouth taste a little like bile, she could have believed that story.  Maybe she’d dodged a bullet.</p>
<p>
Raven jerked her attention back to Finn, watching her examine his living room with a sullen, guilty look that was quickly becoming his signature.  </p>
<p>“Right.  So… I take it you’ve tried calling her,” she dropped her bag on the sofa and moved around through the living room, flipping through the random piles of papers and junk.  Somehow, she doubted all the first-person shooter games belonged to Clarke.  </p>
<p>“Of course, I tried calling her.  Her phone’s dead.  I found it in her nightstand.”  Raven sighed.  Maybe this wouldn’t be as simple as she thought.</p>
<p>“What was she like before she left?  You said you guys had an argument,” she kept her tone controlled as she peered under an issue of <span class="u">Sports Illustrated</span> at the junk mail that resided beneath.  She could feel Finn’s awkwardness from across the room and rolled her eyes to herself.</p>
<p>“She said she needed space to figure something out.”</p>
<p>“And we’re looking for her… why?” Raven halted the investigation, peering over at Finn.  The awkwardness seemed to deflate, and he stood a little taller.  Whether it was genuine or a show of bravado, Raven didn’t know.  </p>
<p>“It’s not like her to just… leave.  And not bring her purse or anything!  She’s been acting weird all week and—”</p>
<p>“Elaborate,” she said, and Finn frowned at her.  Raven rolled her eyes. “Please.”</p>
<p>“She’s seemed a little… off ever since she got back from her late shift.  I don’t know what time she finally got in, maybe it was two or three in the morning?  But when she woke up she seemed all… shaken, frazzled, I don’t really know how to explain it.  She said she’d thought she’d killed me.”</p>
<p>Raven raised a dark eyebrow at him.  </p>
<p>“Is that… a usual interaction?”</p>
<p>“No!  She seemed, well now that I think about it, she seemed pretty upset about it,” Finn’s voice fell as he got trapped in his thoughts for a moment until Raven cleared her throat, urging him to continue.</p>
<p>
“Anyway, she asked me about some girl.  I don’t remember what the name was, but I asked her if she was feeling all right and she said she was.”</p>
<p>“So obviously, she was fine,” Raven couldn’t help but interject, her voice monotonous, but the tone breezed right over Finn’s head as he nodded. </p>
<p>“Right.  Then she came with me to pick up Sam,” Raven couldn’t help but zone out as Finn carried on, the mention of the child he shared with Clarke had caught her momentarily off guard.  The entire time she was with Finn, he’d never mentioned having a child, and for some reason finding out about his secret child had stung a little worse than finding out about his secret wife.  She clenched her fist subtly against her side and set her jaw, forcing herself to focus back on the background drone of Finn’s voice.</p>
<p>“—which I thought was weird, because usually she never turns down a surgery, but I wasn’t about to question it.  I don’t remember anything else happening that day… oh!” he exclaimed, and Raven startled back to attention.  “She called DC something weird, what was it...  <i>Tondc</i>.  I’ve never heard anyone say that.  Is it slang?”</p>
<p>Raven frowned to herself and shrugged.  For all she knew, the pretentious doctors could be coining their own words now.  She wouldn’t put it past them.</p>
<p>“Is that all?” she asked instead, and Finn shook his head.  He stepped quickly forward, finally pushing himself away from the wall near the front door and hurried over to sit on the back of the sofa.</p>
<p>“The next morning, she revealed that she wanted to reevaluate her career,” hand quotes punctuated Finn’s emphasis, and Raven fought to put together the pieces.  As far as she knew, Clarke was a successful surgical resident, highly devoted to her job.  She didn’t exactly work closely with the woman: her IT office in the basement didn’t get many visitors and kept her away from the gore and excitement that radiated through the rest of the hospital, but she’d seen her every now and then whenever she had to crawl out of her self-appointed hole and recalibrate an x-ray or re-enable DHCP on the receptionist’s computer who never seemed to be able to recall how she disabled it in the first place.  If Raven could figure that one out, she probably could have gotten a better gig years ago.  </p>
<p>“Then, she wanted me to go with her to Polaris,” he said without waiting for a response, his brown eyes boring into her own, and Raven couldn’t control the deepening of her frown.  Now that was perhaps stranger than an overworked Resident wondering if the workload was worth it, especially because Raven hadn’t told anyone with any connection to the hospital about her new job aside from Finn, and even then, that had only been minimal information the day prior.  </p>
<p>“Did she say why?” Raven asked, trying not to appear too eager as she put some space between her and Finn under the guise of walking over to the half wall that opened the kitchen up to the rest of the room.  She doubted Finn would notice in his less-observant-than-usual state, but the last thing she wanted was to raise questions that weren’t there.  She tore her eyes away from the pile of dishes sat forgotten in the sink to look back at Finn as he gave her a half shrug.</p>
<p>“She saw the break in on the news.  I thought maybe she just wanted to get away for a while.  It wasn’t a bad idea though, I thought we’d had a good time.”  <i>Clearly, it wasn’t as good for her.</i></p>
<p>“So, she suddenly starts skiving off work, wants to go to a crime scene, then barges out on you?” Raven summarized, and Finn shook his head almost furiously, standing up and following her when she wandered into the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Then, later, she tells me she chased off after some guy who was looking at my car!”  Raven stared at Finn for a moment, entirely confused.  She knew Clarke was tough and brave, even a little stupid sometimes when it came to anticipating the breadth of her own talent and skills, but she’d never seen any indication of that persona outside the hospital.  Before their shared lover came to light, they’d worked together for several years and forged a friendly enough relationship that allowed for asking about days off or vacation time, but from what she could remember, Clarke had always reiterated the same plans of catching up on sleep and spending time with her son.  She certainly hadn’t mentioned any wild stories such as chasing off after car thieves or questing for justice.</p>
<p>“I take it that’s not normal behavior,” Raven drawled, her eyes flicking to the purse on the kitchen counter.  Finn didn’t seem like a leather kind of guy.  She stalked toward it and pulled it open, shuffling around inside.  </p>
<p>“What are you doing?” Finn asked, almost shocked.  Raven shot him a disbelieving look before turning her attention back to the bag. </p>
<p>“I’m looking for clues, do you want me to help you or not?” she snarked.  She found Clarke’s wallet quickly and pulled it out.  There were several credit cards, store rewards cards, and her ID, but one of the slots seemed looser.  It only had one card, whereas up to three were stuffed into each of the other slots.  </p>
<p>“Looks like she’s missing some cards,” Raven muttered and set the wallet on the counter.  Finn continued to watch as she pulled out the contents one by one and piled them up on the counter.  She pulled out a hairbrush, car keys, some lip balm, and several packs of gum.  She raised her eyebrows and looked back at Finn after pulling out a pack of cigarettes.</p>
<p>“Hmm?” she asked, and Finn rolled his eyes and strode forward, grabbing the pack from her and swiftly tossing it in the garbage.</p>
<p>“She’s supposed to be trying to quit,” he mumbled.  </p>
<p>“Well, considering she didn’t take them with her, I think that’s at least going well,” Raven smirked despite herself, dropping the purse on the counter with a tired sigh.  All of this would seem much more normal if she’d just taken her purse.  Finn wouldn’t have called her – well, he probably would have, crying that Clarke finally left him, but she’d left her purse and her car keys on the kitchen counter.  Raven grabbed the wallet and turned to look at Finn, who was watching her with hopeful eyes that had, at one point, melted her heart.  </p>
<p>“Okay, get me her computer and her phone.  Time to bring out the big guns.”</p>
<p>“So, it doesn’t look like she’s used this computer in a few weeks,” Raven mumbled, half to herself, half to Finn as she sat at the messy little kitchen table, hunched over Clarke’s laptop.  Her fingers worked quickly across the keyboard as she effortlessly entered in command after command, doing her best to retrace every step Clarke had digitally taken.  Finn only grunted a response, his head down on his arms as he sat across the table from her.  “Is that normal?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, she doesn’t bring it to work,” he pouted, and Raven rolled her eyes and kept working.  Off to the side, she heard Clarke’s phone vibrate.  She lifted her gaze from the computer and held up the phone.  They’d plugged it in to charge, and now that it was back on, all the messages and missed calls from the past few days were flooding in in and endless notification. </p>
<p>“Holy shit, 67 missed calls,” Raven commented, scrolling through.  Abby Griffin, Abby Griffin, Abby Griffin, Finn Collins, Abby Griffin.  “Jesus, her mother doesn’t take a hint, does she?”  Again, she got a mumble as a response.  Raven narrowed her eyes but kept scrolling through Clarke’s phone, shamelessly reading every new text message as they continued popping through.  Most of them were from Abby, requesting Clarke call her back immediately, and a few from Finn on separate days, asking if she was going to be home for dinner.  </p>
<p>“Does she always leave this thing off for weeks on end?” Raven asked as she scrolled through the messages, none of them catching her eye or divulging any new information. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Finn said shortly as he pushed himself up from the table to take on the much more productive task of pacing around the kitchen.  </p>
<p>“I guess I was hoping for her to have a heavier digital footprint,” Raven sighed as she opened Clarke’s web browser application on her phone.  She winced as a particularly gnarly surgical photo appeared on the screen and quickly pressed the first innocent looking link she could find.  As her eyes recovered, she pulled open the history, frowning at the links to different medical journals and articles.  Apparently, Clarke was very professional with her internet usage, which gave Raven absolutely no leads to go on.  </p>
<p>She’d been looking for evidence of Clarke talking with someone else, having an affair, or even Googling her dream vacation destination.  From the evidence she left behind, Clarke was a focused surgeon with not even enough time to search for the nearest McDonald’s.  All her photos consisted of anatomical diagrams or smiling pictures of Sam, none of herself or Finn, or anything indicating she had a life outside of work.  Raven cracked her knuckles and set down the phone, turning her attention back to the computer as she began to type rapidly.</p>
<p>“What was the name of Clarke’s first pet?” Raven quipped a few minutes later.  Finn had landed himself over by the coffee maker and was making a pot, probably to keep his hands busy.</p>
<p>“Uh…” he stalled, racking his brain.  Raven snorted.</p>
<p>“Forget it – Abby’s maiden name?”</p>
<p>“Davis, I think.”</p>
<p>“Bingo,” Raven said, smirking behind the screen.  She scrolled through Clarke’s bank account, letting out a low whistle.  “Damn, you guys are in <i>debt</i>. But it doesn’t look like she’s used anything since…” Raven glanced at her watch.  “Five days ago.”</p>
<p>She’d been hoping the missing cards could give them a lead.  A drink from a gas station, food, anything.  But there was nothing, no trace of where Clarke Collins-Griffin could have fled off to two days ago.  How was she eating?  How was she getting wherever she went?  A sick sort of feeling was creeping into Raven’s stomach and she suddenly felt worse for the man spilling coffee grounds on the kitchen counter.  All the signs were starting to point to his wife really being missing.</p>
<p>“How is any of this supposed to help find her?  I told you, she left her purse here,” Finn grumbled as he pushed the pot in and pressed start.  He seemed to be following along well enough to where the clues were pointing them.  His breathing was growing heavy, she could hear it from her spot across the small kitchen, and she could feel the anxiety rolling off him in heavy waves.  She carefully shut the laptop with a low breath, deeming it a dead end at this point.  </p>
<p>“I know this is a scary thing to think about, but… would someone, you know… take her?” Raven said in a softer tone, carefully gauging Finn’s reaction.  He immediately shook his head, though the pout fell from his face and it paled slightly at the suggestion.</p>
<p>“I only ask because she didn’t bring anything, and she’s so wrapped up in her job, it just seems unlike her to—"</p>
<p>“I know this is unlike her, Raven!  I wouldn’t have called you if I felt like she was going to turn up at any minute!” He seemed panicked, and Raven let out a low breath.  </p>
<p>“I don’t know how much I can do without physically going out and looking for her.  She hasn’t accessed her accounts, she has no car, no phone.  She’s dropped off the grid, and that’s what I specialize in: the grid.”</p>
<p>“Then let’s go look for her!  We can split up.  I’ll drop Sam off with Marcus and—”</p>
<p>“And it’s been <i>two days</i>, Finn.  We don’t even know if she’s still in the city.”</p>
<p>Finn physically deflated.  His shoulders slumped and he leaned against the counter, his face in his hands.  The room was quiet, and Raven felt like she was intruding on a private moment despite being invited, asked to be a part of it.  She sighed and slowly got up from the kitchen table and made her way as quietly as she could over to Finn.  She hesitated once, twice, then put a hand on his shoulder.  It was shaking, and Raven bit her lip.  There was something wrong with her for wanting to comfort him, she knew, but she did it anyway and hoped it would help.</p>
<p>“We’re going to get some help to find her, okay?” she said quietly.  Finn looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, and Raven mustered a small smile.  “Time to cash in on all those damn tax dollars.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>After three days in the Appalachian Mountains, all Anya wanted to do was take a hot shower and crawl into her own bed.  She and the rest of the Maryland State Search and Rescue team had worked tirelessly, methodically scanning through carefully zoned areas of the forests, on and off the beaten path.  They’d gotten the call a few days prior: a teenage girl and her boyfriend were gone and their parents were worried, but one of their friends had caved under Anya’s signature glare and revealed the young couple had planned to go live together in the mountains, survive off the land and, most importantly, not have to go to school. </p>
<p>It wasn’t supposed to have to be such an extensive search, but after 18 hours with still no trace of the kids, they set up a tent and two would sleep while the other four kept searching.  Anya took the last sleeping shift, even if that paired her with Bellamy Blake who snored like a cow.  She didn’t usually adopt such a hands-on role in the search and rescue missions, but every now and then felt it was important to get back to her roots and make sure she wasn’t too rusty in good old-fashioned tracking, even if her bones were older and protested harder and harder when she crawled off the foam mat they called a bed.   Between that and Officer Blake’s sleeping sound effects, she was sure she hadn’t slept more than six hours by the time they finally found the kids.</p>
<p>They were scared, cold, and hungry, huddled together in a shallow cave and sharing a zip-up jacket as a blanket when the other Officer Blake and her not-boyfriend, Officer Lincoln Hunt, found them in the early afternoon of the third day.  Anya had never been so happy to see a pair of teenagers in her life.  Nyko Bernard, the team’s medic, gave them a quick evaluation while Anya turned to the other members of the squad, eager to get the process moving and get home.</p>
<p>“Blake, Hunt, let’s get them back to the station and call the parents,” she said, and Octavia and Lincoln nodded and began guiding the kids slowly down the semi-steep mountain trail that led to where they’d parked one of the Search and Rescue Jeeps.  “Murphy, Bernard, Other Blake,” she turned to the other three members of the unit.  “Let’s get packed up.  I’ll cover the paperwork, you guys head home and get some rest.  Well done.”</p>
<p>It didn’t take long for Anya to catch up with Octavia and Lincoln, slowed down immensely by their uncoordinated and painfully inexperienced charges, so she took a detour to their camp and grabbed each of their bags and slung them over her aching shoulders.  They all got to the Jeep around the same time, and Anya tossed the bags unceremoniously in the back and hopped into the driver’s side as Octavia settled in the back with the teenagers, Lincoln’s sheer size excluded him from sitting anywhere besides the passenger seat.  </p>
<p>Anya drove as fast as legally acceptable for rolling through steep mountain roads, enjoying the silence that stretched between the three exhausted Officers and the humbled, nervous teenagers.  She fought a wicked smile from curling up the corners of her lips at the sight of them, wide-eyed and huddled together in the back seat.  When they pulled back into cell-service area, Anya considered giving Lexa a call.  She’d let her know that she would be out on a mission away from service for an indefinite amount of time, but a gnawing part of her still worried for her lifelong friend.  She could take care of herself, of course, she wasn’t worried that Lexa would starve while she was gone, she just hoped… she just hoped Lexa hadn’t gotten up to something.</p>
<p>They’d been neighbors growing up, next-door neighbors.  Lexa’s parents would call Anya usually once a week to come babysit their daughter on Friday or Saturday nights, despite Anya being only five years older than the Hurst girl.  At first, she’d done it for the money.  What twelve-year-old kid could turn down a crisp twenty for just watching movies and eating junk food?  It didn’t take long for the two only children to form a bond that neither would acknowledge, and that’s what Anya had liked about Lexa.  The annoying little sister who wasn’t annoying, who could argue with the best of them but still soak up all her words and advice like it was scripture.  She didn’t have many friends; she’d always seemed wiser than the other kids her age, and Anya didn’t have many because, according to Lexa, she came off “rude” and “demeaning.”  But they’d had each other, and even when Lexa no longer needed a babysitter, Anya would come over on Friday or Saturday nights until she went off to college.</p>
<p>
She’d worried about Lexa when she went off to college the same way she worried about her now: from afar and silently, only to herself.  She knew Lexa was strong and smart and capable of anything she put her mind to, but she couldn’t help but feel the protective of the little girl who she’d watched grow up, who had looked up to her until she was tall enough to look her in the eyes.  </p>
<p>When Lexa had gone off to college and come back with Costia Cortez on her arm, Anya had been weary.  She hadn’t trusted the beautiful brunette who radiated sunshine, because it seemed so far-fetched that such a lively human would find solace and common ground with Lexa Hurst, the surly, serious child she knew, but time proved Anya wrong.  Costia was entirely devoted to Lexa to the extent that Anya could often see the tips of Lexa’s ears burning at all the affection Costia bestowed upon her, and Lexa had seemed… content.  Their duo became a trio, and Anya would still go over to Lexa’s house on weekends.  They didn’t have to eat junk food because Costia would make decadent meals, but they still watched movies, she and Lexa would still debate and over-analyze every inch of the plot, only with the addition of Costia’s laughter ringing through their heated words.  </p>
<p>Anya gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, a familiar pain creeping up inside as she thought of the life Lexa used to have.  She’d decided to take a trip, go on a vacation for the first time in as long as she could remember.  Lexa had encouraged it; told her she was going to look ten years older than she was if she didn’t take some time to relax.  So, she’d gone on vacation.  She’d gone off on a two-week cruise with a fiery redhead and barely explored the ship, coming up for food and air and had stepped off the boat at the end of the excursion feeling lighter and better than she could ever remember feeling, and almost just as she’d walked through the front door and dumped her bags on the ground, she got a call from a tearful Costia saying that something had happened to Lexa. </p>
<p>Something had happened, all right.  She’d gotten the gist of the information from Costia, but nothing could have prepared her for seeing a different light in the eyes of her best friend of more than twenty years.  Physically, she was still Lexa.  She still had wild brown hair and vibrant eyes, the same sharp jaw and full lips, but everything else, from the set of her face to the way she carried herself, walked even, was different.  Not even Lexa unleashing some bizarre advanced fighting techniques on her was as startling as the subtle changes she saw in Lexa:  the guarded way she’d analyze a room, the way  she sometimes spoke as though she was giving orders, and God, the <i>language</i>. </p>
<p>It was as though while Anya was on her cruise buried beneath a woman she’d neglected to call back since the startling revelation of a lifelong friend suffering a traumatic, life-altering, mysterious form of psychosis, Lexa had developed her own damn language that sometimes sounded like it could be a slaughtered, lazy form of English, but it was spoken so quickly and so effortlessly that it left Anya… baffled.  Lexa didn’t use the language much anymore, but there were times when Anya could see in her eyes that she just couldn’t help herself.  Like there was truly no other way for her to address Anya sometimes than my <i>fos</i>.  Whatever the hell that meant.</p>
<p>Anya had tirelessly researched what could have happened to her friend.  She’d scoured the internet, the library, she’d bought subscriptions to professional medical journals, and she’d even Googled how to pray, but no medical journal, textbook, Google search, or religion could explain why a person could change so drastically overnight.  She’d felt closest to a solution reading articles about brain injury, how it could damage a person’s memory, language capabilities, and even alter a person’s personality, but the hardest part was that Lexa’s personality was still, essentially…. the same.  She was different, yes, but whenever it came to she and Lexa sitting together on the couch, she didn’t feel like she was sitting with a stranger.  She still felt like Lexa still knew her, and Anya had just chalked that up to being in each other’s lives for so long.  Permanently engraved in the brain.</p>
<p>She could deal with Lexa’s psychosis.  She did deal with Lexa’s psychosis.  She didn’t feel bad for herself, and she only moderately felt bad for Lexa.  Lexa didn’t know what she was missing, she didn’t know all the memories and experiences she’d shared with others that were gone, lost to the damaged caverns of her brain.   But Costia… Anya did feel bad for Costia.  She’d stood by Lexa’s side, in true “sickness and health” fashion, going above and beyond to accommodate for Lexa’s sudden inability to work and operate the world around them, and yet…</p>
<p>Anya parked the Jeep out in front of the precinct and Lincoln was out of the car before she had her seatbelt undone, opening the back and tugging out the gear.  Octavia ushered the children out and Anya allowed her aching back a moment to rest before clambering out and following the sorry troupe into the station.  The hours passed in a blur: filing reports and waiting for the parents to arrive, eavesdropping on the scolding of a lifetime the teens were getting.  Just as the report was submitted and Anya was sure she was going to drop the moment she stepped foot in the door, the phone rang.  Her direct line.  She huffed and brought the receiver up to her ear.  </p>
<p>“This is Adesso,” she spoke firmly despite the way her eyes ached to close and not open again for twelve uninterrupted hours. </p>
<p>“<i>Sergeant Adesso, this is Officer Graves from the Montgomery County Dispatch.  We received a call today at 13:00 about a missing woman in your precinct,</i>” Anya could have screamed into the phone for how her eyes burned, but she took out a pen and jotted the address. </p>
<p>“Name?” she asked, tapping her pen impatiently.  </p>
<p>“<i>Clarke Collins-Griffin.  Husband called it in, name Finn Collins,</i>” the officer reported, and Anya stilled.  She knew that name.  </p>
<p>“Thank you, Officer Graves,” she said and abruptly hung up the phone.  She ran her hands through her greasy hair as she stared at her messy scrawl, the name Lexa had asked her about almost five years ago now.  </p>
<p>
  <i>Five years earlier</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It was Lexa’s birthday.  Her “first birthday” as Anya had jokingly called it until Costia had given her a dirty look. Her oldest friend was staying true to form and being awkward about her birthdays.  For Lexa’s twenty-first birthday Anya had driven the four hour drive to North Carolina State University to take Lexa on a good old-fashioned bar crawl, and by the end of the evening Lexa had been the one to drag Anya back to her dorm, almost entirely sober.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I had a final in the morning,” she’d told Anya later, and Anya respected Lexa’s wishes to not ‘get too crazy’ at any of her birthdays for the years to follow.  This one, at a public ice-cream establishment, held no risk of getting out of hand.  Anya had watched on as Costia ordered for Lexa, promising her it was ‘her favorite,’ and she watched Lexa smile genuinely, thankfully at Costia.  The weather was mild so they’d sat at a table outside, and as was typical when the three of them went out together, Costia dominated the conversation, Anya grunting in agreement every now and then and Lexa watching Costia talk with an intensity that only Lexa could project. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>It wasn’t until Costia got up and excused herself to the restroom did Anya notice Lexa’s pleasant demeanor shift into something a little more… natural.  Anya frowned and pulled her aviators down over her eyes and kicked her feet up onto the empty chair next to her.  They didn’t have the chance to be together alone all that often, especially since the psychotic episode: Costia was usually there, fussing over something or other, creating a distraction between whatever Lexa was thinking and whatever Anya was thinking about that.  But, Costia had gone inside, and Lexa was fidgeting.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Do you remember that woman I asked you about?” Lexa asked a moment later, tearing Anya from her thoughts.  She turned her head toward her friend and pulled the glasses down to rest on the edge of her nose.  Lexa seemed tense, but she’d been tense the first time she’d broached the subject with Anya.  She could perfectly remember the woman Lexa had asked her about.  Clarke Griffin.  She was certain she’d remember a woman called Clarke, and she knew she’d never forget the way Lexa’s face had fallen in the miniscule way Lexa showed emotions when Anya had responded that she’d never heard of her before. “Why?” she’d asked, but Lexa had said it wasn’t important, and Anya knew pushing wasn’t going to get her anywhere. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Vaguely,” she answered finally, nonchalance rolling off her tongue though she glanced at the door to the creamery to make sure Costia wasn’t on her way back.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Would it be possible to find her?” Lexa’s posture was the picture of perfection, a far cry from the squirming mess she’d been a minute before.  Anya let out a low breath.  She knew Lexa knew about her job; she’d explained it to her in detail one day when Lexa’s curiosity was flowing freely.  It wasn’t always, but she’d always answered Lexa’s questions when she asked.  That was their thing.  Anya sat still for a moment, staring at Lexa as her own mind churned, before pushing her glasses back up her nose and sitting up straight in her chair.   </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I can’t use police resources to look for someone unless they’ve been reported missing,” she said finally, turning her upper body towards Lexa.  She witnessed the subtle heartache in Lexa’s face for a second time, watching the pathetically tough stiff nod her friend gave, but Anya could see the muscle in her jaw working.  She sighed and leaned a little closer to her.  “But I’ll keep my eyes peeled, okay?  Is she a friend of yours?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Lexa’s face was hard to read, but Anya narrowed her eyes behind the large lenses and watched her carefully.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“She used to be,” Lexa responded vaguely, and seemed to relax into the chair a little more.  Her shoulders slouched yet something about her posture still seemed regal. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Do you have a description?  It’s easier to go off looks than a name sometimes, though I don’t know that I’ll run into many other Clarke Griffins,” Anya said, trying to mask her own curiosity and determination to uncover whatever Lexa was trying to hide about this Griffin girl.   </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Her hair is golden, and her eyes are so blue they are startling.  Imagine the color of a deep mountain lake on a spring afternoon,” Lexa said, closing her eyes as she spoke, and Anya’s frowned deepened.  Protectiveness surged through her, but for the first time, not for Lexa.  Instead, she felt compelled to protect Costia, to tell Lexa she’d thought better of her, but she stopped herself.  She didn’t know what was going through Lexa’s brain these days.  She didn’t know if Clarke Griffin was actually real; she could be about as real as Lexa’s fake language for all she knew.  Anya set her jaw and stared at Lexa as her eyes opened, but the moment she heard the parlor door open she knew the conversation was over.  Lexa wouldn’t bring it up in front of Costia.  Of course, she wouldn’t.  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Anya slouched back down in her chair as Costia rejoined them at the table, taking a seat in Lexa’s lap as opposed to her own chair, and Anya made a note in her mind to keep her eyes out for Clarke Griffin.</i>
</p>
<p>She’d met the woman by an odd chance two years later.  She was at the hospital for official police business and, unfortunately, had to go through Clarke to speak with her patient.  Or rather, Dr. Collins-Griffin.  She looked how Lexa described, but she had pissed Anya off to high heavens with her snappy, bossy attitude and the way she seemed to know instinctively how to push all of Anya’s buttons at once.  She’d done as asked and called Lexa about it, and that was that.  She’d tried to bring Dr. Collins-Griffin up to Lexa several times over the years, but Lexa had just waved her off.  The closest she’d gotten to a response was, “our paths crossed at one point, but like all intersecting lines, will not cross again.”</p>
<p>That had been all the solace she had needed, and she’d even felt almost bad for assuming the worst of her closest friend, but the thought had always nagged a little at the back of her brain whenever it rolled around, and not only had it rolled around again, but it was barreling toward her.  </p>
<p>Now, Lexa’s supposed old friend was missing, and her husband had called it in.  Anya shook her head and rubbed her eyes.  First, she would shower.  Then, she would pay a visit to Mr. Finn Collins.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re all right, Sergeant?  You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Lincoln asked as they climbed the stairs toward the Collins-Griffin residence.  Anya rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her clean hair, dried from having the window rolled down on the short drive over.  She straightened the collar on her professional white blouse and eyed him as he trotted beside her in a matching white shirt, paired with a sensible blue tie.  </p>
<p>“I haven’t,” she said shortly as they rounded the corner to number 305.  She knocked sharply three times and pulled her badge off her belt, holding it up as soon as the door was opened.<br/>
“Mr. Collins?” she asked the disheveled man behind the door, and he nodded as he stepped back to open the door wider.  Anya and Lincoln both nodded at him as they filed through the door and found themselves in a crowded little sitting room with a long-haired Latina and a wide-eyed little blonde boy.  </p>
<p>“Mr. Collins, I’m Sergeant Adesso and this is Officer Holt, we’re here to ask a few questions about your wife,” she spoke needlessly, her eyes darting around the room in a quick surveillance of the living quarters.  It was a mess, but she’d seen worse.  She clipped her badge back on her belt and pulled from her back pocket a little notebook with a pen attached.  She flipped it open to a blank page and clicked the pen, looking back over at Finn Collins.  “When did you last see her?”</p>
<p>“The day before yesterday, around noon,” he answered dully, and Anya watched with narrowed eyes as the small boy scrambled across the room to stand next to his father.  She jotted his answer down.</p>
<p>
“Were there any altercations?  Conflicts?” she glanced up from her notepad to the wedding photo on a console table behind the couch.  That was the doctor all right.  </p>
<p>“We um, we did have a bit of an argument.  Her mother was here and that can make her a bit… testy.  She stormed out and, well… hasn’t come back,” he said slowly, and Anya made a few notes.  Marital spat involving the mother-in-law.  She had a good idea where this case was going, but she couldn’t help but be a little curious about the only person Lexa had asked to reach out to in six years that didn’t involve some kind of conspiracy theory about business moguls.  </p>
<p>“Elaborate, please,” she said gruffly, and Finn swallowed under her gaze.  Lincoln shot her a look out of the corner of his eye and stepped in. </p>
<p>“Did she say or do anything out of the ordinary before she left?” he asked kindly, and a huff sounded from behind her.  The Latina.  She turned around and raised an eyebrow at the woman, who crossed her arms over her chest. </p>
<p>“Who are you?” </p>
<p>“Raven Reyes.  The other woman,” she stuck her hand out but Anya didn’t take it, instead turned on Finn, who had covered his young son’s ears.  She wasn’t entirely sure he should even be here while his father interviewed the police about his missing mother, but she wasn’t here to give parenting advice. </p>
<p>“So, there’s an affair involved?” she said plainly, and Finn’s blush spread from the top of his head to down beneath the collar of his shirt.  This case was becoming more apparent. </p>
<p>“It’s not like that, anymore,” he said, and Anya cut him off before he could trip over his words. </p>
<p>“Why is she here?”</p>
<p>“She was helping me try to track her down!  Raven’s like, a hacker,” Finn said, and Anya turned sharply back to Raven, who was quick to defend herself.</p>
<p>“A hacker is what any Plain Jane off the street would call someone who has a knack for technology, and you know it,” Raven said.  “I helped him look at Clarke’s bank accounts to see if she’s used her card, check her emails and texts for secret lovers, the works.  She doesn’t have much of a digital footprint, but by all means, prove me wrong.”</p>
<p>Anya very nearly smiled. </p>
<p>“Did she say anything about where she would have gone?” Lincoln tried again, and Finn seemed grateful for the intervention.  He told them all about the argument with Abby Griffin-Kane, and Anya circled her name.  She’d have to speak with her.  He told them about her behavior the past few days, how she’d been a little off and was missing work and chasing after strangers loitering around their personal vehicles, and how she’d left her purse and car keys.  By the end of his explanation, with details inserted here and there by Raven, Anya was a little less certain about the direction the case was going.  It did seem strange for a woman to willingly leave her family as well as all personal belongings, but she snapped her notebook shut with a sigh and pocketed it again. </p>
<p>“Do you mind if we have a look around, Mr. Collins?” she asked.  Her eyes were beginning to throb. </p>
<p>“Go ahead,” he said as he picked up the child, Sam, she’d learned, in his arms.  Anya nodded to him, then to Lincoln as they each pulled a pair of gloves from their pockets.  Lincoln stayed with the strangely structured family to look around the living room and kitchen, while Anya escaped down the hallway.  She poked briefly around the child’s room and hallway bathroom, finding nothing out of the ordinary for the designated spaces, before making her way to the hellhole of a master bedroom.  </p>
<p>She tackled the bathroom first, pulling a UV flashlight from her pocket and scanning the room.  A small amount of blood drew her attention, visible from the UV light but otherwise impossible to spot, and she leaned closer to examine.  It was old and seemed very dark, almost black, but it was such a small amount that it was hard to tell.  She pulled out her phone and turned on the flash, snapping a few pictures.  The rest of the bathroom was normal, though she cringed at the bodily fluid traces in the shower.  Not enough to write home about, though she snapped a picture anyway.  </p>
<p>She made her way back to the bedroom and shone the light across the carpet and the bed, kicking away the piles of clothes to check underneath.  Yielding no significant results, she pocketed the flashlight and moved toward the small walk-in closet.  She pushed through the clothes and eyed the area carefully, but nothing looked odd or out of place.  She moved on to the drawers.  The dresser was filled with clothes, folded carefully.  Nothing was buried in the sock drawer.  The first bedside table was filled with half-empty condom boxes and candy wrappers.  The second must have been Clarke’s.  Anya shifted through the junk in the first drawer and quickly moved on to the second.  </p>
<p>She skimmed the journal’s latest entry, shutting the book with a snap when she realized it hadn’t been used for years.  Anya pulled out an empty photo frame and a sketchbook, well worn.  She flipped through the pages absently, seeing nothing alarming or out of the ordinary.  She sighed and grabbed the empty frame as she stood up, making her way back out to the living room as she peeled off her gloves. </p>
<p>“What was in this?” she asked the husband.  He looked confused for a moment, frowning at the frame. </p>
<p>“I’ve never seen that before,” he admitted, almost sheepishly.  She fought an eye roll and set the empty frame on the console table before turning to Lincoln, the question in her eyes enough for him to start talking.</p>
<p>“It looks like she could have taken a credit card with her, but we’ll have to run all her accounts and see if anything is missing,” he said, brandishing a zipped-up leather wallet.  Anya nodded.  That was, so far, the only indication that this scenario could have been premeditated.  </p>
<p>“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Collins.  Call us if you hear anything,” she said, and Finn nodded eagerly.  His eyes were red, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and his jaw was trembling slightly.  Anya had to get out of here before the waterworks started.  As Lincoln put the wallet in a baggie, she glanced at the Latina over her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Ms. Reyes,” she nodded, before turning on her heel and putting as much distance between herself and Clarke Collins-Griffin’s crying husband as she could.  </p>
<p>“Pass the notes off to the Blake’s and have them talk to coworkers at Arkadia Memorial.  Find out who her friends are, see if she has any enemies.  If Little Blake has qualms about working with Bellamy, she can get monitoring on all active accounts.  Get Murphy to talk with the mother and tell Bernard to do a patrol around the neighborhood.  I’ve got to get about four hours of sleep or I’m going to murder someone,” Anya said as soon as they pulled into the parking lot at the police station.  She got out of the cruiser and undid the top two buttons on her shirt.  “You get some rest too.  We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning at 05:00 unless somebody finds something.  If they do – call me.”</p>
<p>Lincoln nodded dutifully and hurried inside, evidence in hand, while Anya made her way over to her car.  She strapped in and pulled out of the parking lot quickly, eager to get home and just rest for a little while.  She knew she’d think clearer after a few uninterrupted hours in the King-sized pillow top that was screaming her name at this point.  </p>
<p>She parked in her usual spot and fought a yawn as she walked right up to the door of the little ground-floor apartment, jiggling the key just right until it released the lock.  She could see through the half-drawn curtains that the lights were on, and a sense of calm she didn’t know had been missing washed over her at the knowledge.  </p>
<p>The moment she stepped through the door, however, the serenity evaporated, and her blood turned cold.  Anya saw Lexa stand up from her spot on the couch, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blonde sitting wide-eyed on the couch, staring at her as though she’d just seen a ghost.  She had to physically pull at her clenching jaw to open it, but when she did her voice was dangerously low.</p>
<p>“Care to explain why there’s a missing person in my home, Lexa?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Every Second I Spend Waiting Drags Me Closer to this Grave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just wanted to thank everyone for reading this! It is so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy it half as much as I do!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lexa woke up slowly early in the morning, blinking her eyes awake as they focused on the lump of blankets lying next to her.  She’d woken up next to Costia countless times, but this was only her second time waking beside Clarke and watching as she continued to dream.  Yesterday her face had been smooth and relaxed, despite being sprawled out naked on the living room floor.  She’d looked so beautiful and so calm that Lexa had gingerly ran her fingers down her sleeping cheeks just to feel her, to make sure she was really there, to make sure she wasn’t going to wake up from her own dream and be alone in the guest bedroom of Anya’s apartment.  </p><p>Today, however, Lexa’s heart felt hollow and ached around the emptiness.  She couldn’t see Clarke’s face.  Clarke had turned away from her when they’d gotten in bed, and Lexa had laid still, flat on her back with a foot of distance between them.  She knew Clarke had been upset by everything Lexa had unloaded on her yesterday.  Perhaps she should have waited, allowed Clarke a little bit of time to adjust to her new life.  </p><p>After the heated discussion in her bedroom about the extensive research she’d done on Nia and her lucrative operations, she’d tried to ease the conversation away from the heavier topics and tried instead to get some insight on what Clarke had experienced so far in this new reality, but the only information she was able to gather was that Clarke had been searching for a way back home for four days, with this quiet, calm morning dawning the fifth.  It had taken herself weeks to fully accept the situation and even longer to acclimate, so it was no surprise that Clarke was still adamant about escaping this reality, about finding a way out, a way home.   </p><p>Lexa, however, knew better.  She’d been living in this world for six years, and while her own road had taken unexpected twists and turns, she eventually accepted her fate and made the decision to not waste another moment.  Clarke had always caught on quickly; Lexa was sure this situation would be no different.  She just needed time, but Clarke wasn’t allowing herself to accept the realities.  She kept going back to the same thing: she needed to get back.  She couldn’t stay here.  This wasn’t her home, and this wasn’t her life to be living.  </p><p><i>“Why?  What exactly do you need to go back for?”</i> Lexa had finally asked, expecting an answer along the lines of needing to save her people.  She didn’t know much of what happened in the Old World since her absence.  Honestly, she’d stopped wondering about it, but the way Clarke chewed her lip and held the sleeves of her sweatshirt for dear life had Lexa curious about what she’d been through, what ongoing situations were calling her back so strongly.</p><p><i>“I have a daughter, Lexa.  I can’t leave her, I’m not ready,” </i>Clarke had said quietly, her voice broken and small and scared, and Lexa’s heart had stammered in her chest.  Clarke’s determination had made a little more sense after that moment, but the conversation had already halted and it was difficult from that point on to get any information out of Clarke, and Lexa was lacking adequate words of comfort to attribute to the loss of a child.  She did understand, though, the constant state of worry Clarke must be in without even the ability to check on her.  Part of her own heart selfishly ached as she imagined Clarke sharing a bed with another after Lexa was dead and gone, but she knew she had no right to entertain those thoughts.  She held no claim on Clarke’s heart and was hypocritical for letting such images tinged with hurt and distaste cloud her mind.  </p><p>In the early, quiet hours of the morning, Lexa climbed out of bed, careful and precise in her movements so she wouldn’t jostle and wake Clarke.  She made her way slowly to the kitchen to prepare the morning coffee that had been sorely missed the previous day and let her thoughts wander to the impending situation with Nia.  When she’d first found Clarke, it had been like a beacon of light from above signaling she was on the right path.  That everything she’d sacrificed had not been in vain.  When she’d first seen her at Polis tower, something deep in her soul told her it wasn’t Dr. Collins-Griffin who had wandered to Polis, but Clarke Griffin, the girl who fell from the sky.  She couldn’t have asked for a better companion to help her take down Nia’s operation than Wanheda herself.  Clarke, in every sense of the word, was her equal, and she would be more than a valuable ally in her personal quest for the Ice Queen’s demise.  What she hadn’t anticipated, however, was Clarke’s unwillingness to do anything but try to get back to a world where she was dead and gone from.  </p><p><i>Give her time,</i> she told herself. <i> She has always been quick.  She will adjust soon.</i></p><p>She crept to the front door of the apartment and opened the front door, her eyes darting over to Anya’s usual parking spot: empty and shadowed from the rising sun by an old oak tree.  She’d told Lexa not to worry, that she was on a rescue mission in the mountains.  Lexa wasn’t worried, and it wasn’t unusual for Anya to be gone for extended periods of time.  She picked up the newspaper off the front mat and headed back to the kitchen. </p><p>She was reading an article about a failed sporting event at the local school when Clarke made her way into the kitchen, fully dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing since Lexa had first spotted her and Finn in the Polis parking garage, her dirty, sleep mussed hair pulled back into a makeshift bun.  Lexa offered her a smile that she did not return. </p><p>“Here, try this.  You will like it,” she said as she stood up and hurried to pull a mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker.  Clarke reluctantly took the seat across from Lexa’s newspaper as Lexa placed in front of her a steaming mug of coffee, cream and sugar added because Lexa wasn’t sure Clarke would enjoy the bitterness of black.  </p><p>“Coffee?” Clarke asked as she examined the mug.  Her voice was raspier than usual, almost hoarse from sleep, and Lexa quirked an eyebrow at her. </p><p>“You have had this before?”  Clarke nodded and took a tentative sip. </p><p>“We had coffee on the Ark, but this is… better,” she said and took another sip.  Lexa smiled at her and returned to her seat. </p><p>“The packaging says it is gourmet,” Lexa offered as she folded up the newspaper and pushed it to the side.  “You haven’t spoken much before about your life in space.”</p><p>Clarke shrugged one shoulder noncommittally, her eyes glued to the light brown liquid swirling around her mug as she gently turned it back and forth.  </p><p>“I don’t think of The Ark when I think of home,” Clarke said sullenly, and Lexa’s friendly smile dipped into a grimace.  She had a feeling she knew what Clarke was thinking about.  She imagined a small girl with blue eyes and bright blonde hair with a dimple on her chin, playing in the mud and laughing as her loving mother watched on.  </p><p>“What is her name?” she asked gently, and Clarke looked up from her mug, almost startled.  When her sad eyes met Lexa’s, her face softened and a somber melancholy seemed to wash over her, even as the corners of her mouth tugged up.</p><p>“Madi,” she said quietly, and Lexa couldn’t help herself.  She reached her hand across the table and held it open, palm up.  She watched as Clarke eyed it wearily before placing her own hand on top of Lexa’s, and Lexa threaded their fingers together and held it tightly, trying to convey in one touch everything she felt she couldn’t find the words to articulate.  </p><p>“If she is anything like you,” she said, her voice low and eyes locked to Clarke’s, “then she is strong.”</p><p>Clarke’s eyes misted up and she squeezed Lexa’s hand back, nodding in thanks, or agreement, Lexa wasn’t sure, but she held on tightly.  </p><p>Lexa decided it would be best to let Clarke spend a day to digest the vaults of information that had been unloaded on her, so she made a point to not bring up Nia again.  Instead, they sat in what Lexa considered a companionable silence for most of the day.  Clarke seemed desperately lost in her own thoughts, and while Lexa ached to know what was running through her head that caused her brow to furrow and her eyes to mist, she couldn’t bring herself to disrupt her, to distract her from coming to terms with her new reality.</p><p>She tried to keep herself busy without interfering with Clarke.  She finished reading the morning newspaper, she cleaned the already immaculate kitchen, and when she started a load of laundry of clothes of Anya’s she thought might suit Clarke, her own thoughts began to drift on their own accord.  Lexa didn’t like to stay idle.  She didn’t like for her focus to stray too far from her goal, for her mind to wander much farther than catching Nia and ending her reign of terror once more, because when it wandered, it wandered quickly and down some of the darkest passages in Lexa’s brain.</p><p>
  <i>One year earlier</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa pedaled as quickly as she could, squinting her eyes against the harsh glare of headlights distorted, stretched and blinding, by the heavy stream of rain pouring from the sky.  Her arms shook with the friction of the front tire hitting potholes and slipping precariously through puddles of standing water collected in the uneven, broken sidewalk.  Her clothes were drenched; her hair was soaked underneath the sodden hood of her cotton jacket, and her jeans felt heavy and chafed underneath her knees as she maintained the vigorous peddling.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Despite the heavy traffic, the cars sped down the road quicker than the designated forty miles per hour guidelines posted clearly every few miles.  Lexa couldn’t go as fast as them no matter how hard she tried, but she didn’t have to catch up.  She just had to keep her sights set on one set of taillights.  Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest and her mouth was dry and tasted like her lungs, but she pushed harder as her target took a sharp, unexpected right turn into a dark side street.  She was so close.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Her foot slipped off the pedal and she rammed painfully into the seat as the bicycle shook under her weight.  She only winced and gripped the handlebars tighter, pushing harder against the pedals.  A dip in the sidewalk sent her crashing through a puddle that splashed up and soaked her shoes and socks, and her feet felt even slicker against the plastic pedals.  The tires fared no better against the standing water and lost their friction.  The front tire wobbled helplessly, and Lexa pumped the hand brakes and ignored the urge to pull back on the handlebars, a muscle memory from her old life.  The side street was approaching quickly, and Lexa was losing control of the bicycle.  She pumped the brakes again, ineffective against the slick cement.  She didn’t have time to stop.  The bike was picking up speed and the handlebars were beginning to twist and turn too quickly for her to correct.  She could see the raindrops dancing in the glow of red lights and without a second of hesitation, leapt from the bike.  She soared through the air as she heard the screech of metal colliding with the cement.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>She hit the ground in a crouch, her ankles screaming from the impact, but the excitement at being so close to her target was overpowering.  She was directly behind the parked car that she’d been following for miles, the red lights bright as they shone on her face.  A flash of lightening lit up the sky, and the roaring thunder that followed shortly after narrated her careful movements.  She stood slowly and walked with a steady pace to the passenger side of the vehicle, pulled over and parked next to the side of a large brick building.  Her movements were precise as she pulled open the passenger side door and slid in the seat, simultaneously pulling her newest purchase, a handgun, from the waistband of her jeans.  The weight was heavy and unfamiliar, but she held her wrist steady.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The woman behind the wheel shrieked, and Lexa pushed the gun to her temple.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Drive,” she ordered as she pulled the passenger door shut.  “Now.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I don’t have any money, please don’t do this, please,” the woman begged, and Lexa could see the beginnings of tears glistening in the dim dashboard lights.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Drive,” she repeated calmly, pushing the gun harder to the woman’s head.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Where?” she sobbed but shifted gears on the vehicle.  Lexa was familiar with this motion.  She was obeying.     </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I need you to proceed to your next stop,” she replied.  She’d followed this woman through her route the previous evening.  She was a new addition to Nia’s disposable crew, and she’d brought the same vehicle tonight as she had the night before.  She was inexperienced and afraid, skittish in her movements and tentative as she’d walked to and from her vehicle at each of the checkpoints.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>She was the weakest link, and Lexa’s best shot at getting to the leaders of this operation.  She doubted this woman had any contact with Nia: She’d first seen her meeting up with Nia’s personal bodyguard, known to the public as Echo Olsen, but known to Lexa as the Azgeda Spy.  It was rare to see Echo interact with the henchmen, and even rarer for a henchman to be a woman.  After following her to various, seemingly random endpoints throughout the city the night before, speaking with several other known members of Nia’s ring of immorality, it became clear to Lexa that this woman had a special role.  As badly as she wanted to find out just what they wanted with this young, meek woman, she wanted Nia’s head more.   </i>
</p><p>
  <i>She watched closely as the woman’s shaky hands rested on the steering wheel and turned it ever so slightly away from the curb she’d pulled up against.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I don’t kn-know what you’re t-t-talking about,” the woman stammered as the car began a slow, careful roll down the road.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Faster.  You need to drive normally,” she ordered, another threatening jab to the woman’s temple.  She whimpered but the car began to move quicker down the empty road, and Lexa continued.  “You have one more stop.  When we arrive, you will stay in the car.  Do you understand?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The woman nodded so quickly, she jostled Lexa’s gun, and Lexa gripped it tighter, hating the way the crisp edges of metal dug into the palm of her hand.  The weight distribution was so different than any weapon she was accustomed to.  They rode in silence, Lexa switching between keeping an eye on the terrified woman behind the wheel and looking at landmarks through the windshield to ensure the woman was taking the same path she’d gone the night before.  She was.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Eventually, the car rolled to a stop, and the woman parked the car and let go of the wheel as though it had burned her palms. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Turn off the car,” Lexa instructed, watching closely as the woman pulled the key out of the ignition with fumbling hands.  The cab light turned on and Lexa knocked the barrel of the gun up to shut off the light.  Costia had the same kind of light on the roof of her car.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“As soon as I get inside,” she spoke slowly, nudging the woman’s shoulder with her gun until gaunt, fearful brown eyes locked with her own.  A cool white streetlamp cast her young face in a blue tint, illuminating the whites of her eyes and darkening the circles under them.  “You need to leave.  Get as far away from these people as you can.  This path will only lead you into darkness.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Without another glance, Lexa pushed open the door and slipped out of the car.  She let it close quietly behind her as she made her way up an overgrown stone path.  Weeds and grass sprouted through the extensive cracking in the cement and muffled each of Lexa’s steps as she steadily moved toward the side door that she’d watched the young woman go through the night before.  She tucked the firearm back into the waistband of her jeans and took a deep breath before grasping tightly to the loose, rusty doorknob.  As she turned it, an engine roared to life from the street, and she waited until she could no longer hear the rumble of the car before pushing through the door.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The inside of the building reminded Lexa of buildings she’d been in before, in her first life.  An unsettled wave of nostalgia washed over her as she took in the peeling paint and holes in the wall, the threadbare rug sprawled over the scratched wooden floor.  An old, moldy sofa was pushed up against a wall, flanked by matching armchairs in an equally distressed condition.  It looked more like an unused room in Polis Tower than a room in this world that had never known the suffocating effects of a Praimfaya.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>A flickering blue light and low murmurs led Lexa toward a hallway at the far side of the room.  She crept quietly; the conscious heel-toe motion of her rubber soled shoes silent against the ground.  The hallway was short and void of any decorations aside from a large hole that looked to be the right height for someone’s head to have smashed through to the framing of the house.  The hallway opened up to a larger room, where an old, cracked TV played to the audience of a large, burly bald man crowded on a sofa that was bowing in the center, and a petite figure curled up in the far corner of the room, her wrists and ankles bound.  The woman saw Lexa as she approached the back of the sofa, almost directly behind the bald man, and she recoiled further into the corner, a soft whine escaping her lips.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Shut the hell up,” the man growled, and ice rolled through Lexa’s veins at the familiar voice that boomed and echoed off the bare walls.  His head was shiny in the flickering, cool blue glow of the room, and Lexa fought the urge to bash it in.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It shames me to see my old warrior in a position of dishonor,” Lexa spoke clearly, and Quint spun around on the sofa, his wide eyes dipping into a glare as he saw her.  The scars and tattoos he bore, like Lexa’s own, were erased from his face that somehow looked as though he’d endured a much harsher life than he had in the Old World.  His eyes were sunken in and his teeth were rotten, though he bore them at her in a display that looked nothing short of feral.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’re not supposed to be here, girl,” he snarled, and pushed himself off the sofa.  Lexa stood tall as he hurried around the couch.  “Where the hell is Nadia?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Where is Nia?” Lexa countered.  Quint’s eyes hardened and he moved toward her.  He was slow as he lunged forward to grab her, but Lexa ducked easily down and to the side, slipping out of his reach.    Quint grunted as he regained his balance, and Lexa nimbly hopped back towards the sofa.  She stood with the back of the couch behind her and gripped the rough, dirty fabric.  If it could hold Quint, it would be sturdy enough.  She clenched her stomach muscles and put her weight on her arms.  Quint took a step toward her, his knuckles cracking audibly as he clenched his fist, and Lexa pulled her knees to her chest and kicked both feet out as hard as she could, the heel of her shoe crushing into Quint’s neck.  He gasped and gargled, grasping at his throat, but the man was a brick wall and hardly stumbled back.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Realizing her own weight would not be enough to best the boar of the man roaring with rage in front of her, Lexa hopped over the back of the sofa and skidded to a halt in front of a lamp, shade-less and resting on the floor not far from the terrified woman who had pushed herself, if possible, even further into the corner.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa bent slightly and ripped the cord from the wall, a quick white spark shooting out from the socket as she felt a hand on the back of her head, dragging her up to full height.  Quint palmed her skull like it was a ball and shoved it forward.  Lexa shut her eyes desperately as the sound of crashing glass deafened her, the sting of cuts marring her skin, followed by the wet rainwater seeping into the fresh cuts.  She gasped as her head was jerked back inside, and desperately kicked her leg back, meeting Quint’s solid shin.  As she felt Quint’s grip tighten on her skull once more, Lexa took a gasping breath and held it as she slammed the heel of her shoe down as hard as she could into the ground in front of where she estimated his leg was.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>A grunt of pain signaled her moderate success of smashing the heel of her foot into Quint’s toes, but the thick fingers around her head didn’t lessen up.  Her thoughts flew wildly through her dwindling options and landed on the gun tucked discreetly into the back of her damp jeans.  The gun had been a necessary intimidation factor for the first part of her plan: she hadn’t intended to use it.  She had minimal knowledge and wasn’t confident that she could operate it safely in these circumstances. She did know she couldn’t let Quint get his hands on it or all her efforts would be for naught.  </i>
</p><p><i>Quint’s other thick hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed, and Lexa struggled to get a breath through the closing airways.  </i>Yu gonplei nou ste odon,<i> she told herself firmly as Quint pushed her head up against a wall, knocking roughly against the stained, old wallpaper.  He loosened his grasp on her neck to drag her cheek across the wall, and the scent of her own blood flooded her nostrils.  She involuntarily gasped as desperate air flooded her lungs until Quint’s hand returned to her throat and trapped it in.  </i></p><p>
  <i>She fought through the pain as she allowed her face to be pushed against the wall and used it as an anchor.  She mentally aimed higher and more centered and swung her leg back as hard as she could.  She knew she’d made contact close to where she was hoping as Quint let out a pained groan and released both his hands off her.  She gasped and blinked against the black spots that littered her vision and wasted no time in scurrying behind Quint, who had stumbled to his knees.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa wrapped the cord of the lamp tightly around her hand and draped it over Quint’s neck, tugging until she could see the veins in his neck bulge and his hands flew from his crotch to his neck, desperately grasping at the thin strand that was slowly, but surely cutting off his airflow, much as he’d done to Lexa not minutes before.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’ll ask you one more time,” Lexa growled in his ear, pulling the cord tighter as Quint squeaked.  “Where is Nia?” she loosened the cord just enough for him to speak, but Quint was attempting to work his thick fingers through the slack, so Lexa pulled it tighter.  The brute wasn’t going to cooperate, so she pulled until her hands met at the base of his neck.  He struggled and thrashed but Lexa held the cord taut as it dug into her hands and fingers, her forearms and biceps burning until the oaf of a man fell limp, his body sagging forward, suspended by the lamp cord.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa was breathing heavily by the time she released the hold on the lamp and unwound her fingers from the cord, opening and closing her hand to regain blood flow.  Quint’s body hit the ground with a heavy thud, and Lexa turned to the woman in the corner, who was gaping at her with wide eyes and an open mouth.  She looked young, younger than Nadia.  Her dark hair was matted and tangled and her cheeks sunken in, fear and terror etched into her otherwise beautiful face.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa darted toward the woman, ignoring her flinch as she grasped her ankles and began working on the knot that bound them.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Turn around, I’ll get your wrists,” Lexa spoke quietly, her throat aching as the words slipped through the sore channel.  The woman scrambled to her knees and turned around, and just as Lexa pulled the knot free, a clap of thunder shook the room and the captive jolted at the noise, jerking her limbs free from the loosened restraints and backing herself into the wall, fearful eyes searching Lexa’s face.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You are safe now,” she said, holding her hands up.  The woman trembled and drew her arms close to her body.  Lexa took a step back, putting distance between them.  “What happened?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The woman’s mouth opened and closed several times, as though she was trying to speak but couldn’t get the words from her head to her tongue, and finally gave up, shaking her head sharply.  Lexa sighed and let her hands drop to her sides.  Her face was beginning to throb from where it had been pushed up against the wall, and the little cuts on her face stung.  The drying blood was stiffening her skin, and her back groaned and ached under the pressure of standing up. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>From the other side of the house, a door slammed, and Lexa’s eyes snapped open.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Leave now.  The window,” Lexa murmured to the trembling woman, jerking her head in the direction of the window broken open by her own head.  Footsteps thudded down the hallway, and Lexa rushed to the wall next to the doorway, pressing herself as flat against it as she could as she drew the gun from the waistband of her pants, her fingers fumbling across the cool metal for the little switch Anya had called the safety.  She watched as the woman scrambled out of the window and disappeared just as the footsteps reached the end of the hallway.   </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Her heart pounded as Ontari Goncharav, Nia’s proclaimed ‘apprentice’ stepped into the room.  Her hair was slicked down and heavy from the rain, and her jaw set angrily as she took in the scene before her.  Lexa held her breath as Ontari took a few steps into the room, unaware of the bleeding woman pressed up against the wall behind her.  Lexa watched the back of her head as it leaned forward to peer over the sofa at Quint’s lifeless body, then to the corner of the room where the ties laid sprawled out where the woman had been just a minute before. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What do we have here?” she said to herself, her sickly-sweet voice sending unpleasant chills down Lexa’s spine.  She hadn’t expected to find anyone from Nia’s inner circle here, she’d only been hoping for a lead, a clue to the next step in her journey.  She hadn’t expected it to be this easy.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She glanced down at the gun and visually located the safety, clicking it into the off position and held her breath as she moved forward as silently as she could and pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of Ontari’s head.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Ontari,” she spoke clearly, despite her straining throat, and the woman froze, her hands splayed out on the back of the sofa.  Ontari’s head turned to the side and Lexa met a pair of beady, dark eyes that wandered up and down her form the best they could at the sideways angle. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I see Quint beat the shit out of you.  What did he do, stab you with a pen?” she scoffed, and Lexa pressed the barrel to her temple, her finger hovering above the trigger.  Ontari’s face remained calm despite the gun pressed to her head. “Who sent you?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I am answering the call for justice,” Lexa responded bitterly, her own jaw clenching at Ontari’s nonchalance.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Cute,” Ontari said, and Lexa’s eyes flickered to the twitching fingers on Ontari’s right hand. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Don’t move,” she growled as she reached around Ontari’s body with her spare hand, patting the bulky fabric of her rain-slicked coat.  Just as her fingers splayed across a hard object near Ontari’s waist, the Azgeda jerked her elbow roughly into Lexa’s arm, pushing it away.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Sorry, you’re not my type,” she sneered, and Lexa growled and gripped the offending arm and twisted it up her back until Ontari huffed out a grunt of pain. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Tell me where I can find Nia Snowe,” she said lowly, pushing Ontari’s twisted arm farther up the woman’s back.  Ontari stiffened under the pressure but said nothing, so Lexa pushed harder, twisting and pulling until a sickening crack sounded throughout the room and Ontari let out a sharp, pained gasp.  Lexa released her hold on the arm and swiftly pushed away the thick, wet fabric of Ontari’s coat and pulled the gun from its holster, shoving it into the back of her own jeans.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Tell me,” she pushed the gun harder into Ontari’s head.  Ontari hissed as she gingerly moved her arm around to the front of the body, her shoulder dislocated and jutting out beneath the heavy coat she wore.  Lexa watched as she cradled her right arm with her left.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Even if I knew, why the hell would I tell you?” Ontari spat out, and Lexa pulled the gun from her head and pointed it down, pressing the trigger as she aimed at Ontari’s foot.  The woman howled in pain and Lexa’s arm jerked uncomfortably, unprepared for the power and kick of the weapon.  Her ears were ringing from the sound of the shot as she stepped away from Ontari, who had pressed her face into the fabric on the back of the couch.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Tell me what you do know,” Lexa said loudly, kicking Ontari’s bleeding foot.  Her knees gave out and she slid into a crumpled heap on the floor, leaning against the back of the couch as Lexa towered over her.  Despite the obvious pain she was in, Ontari’s face steeled up at her, forehead crumpled in a scowl and mouth twitching in disgust. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I know that you’re never going to see the light of day again when Nia finds out about this,” Ontari snarled, and Lexa raised her gun.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Nia isn’t going to hear another word from you,” Lexa said through clenched teeth.  She thought she saw a flicker of fear cross Ontari’s face, before it broke into a sickeningly sweet smile.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“All she has to do is review the security footage and she’ll see your ink splattered face all over it,” Ontari taunted, and Lexa froze.  Security cameras.  Her eyes darted to the upper corners of the room and sure enough, two little black orbs in opposite corners were mounted, each with a blinking red light.  “Letting our merchandise go is really going to piss her off, but killing me?  She’ll be out for your head.”</i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <br/>
  </i>
</p><p><i>
Lexa snapped her eyes back to Ontari.  Her mind was racing through possible scenarios.  She had minimal knowledge of security cameras but understood well enough that Nia would have her face, even if it were splattered in blood and swelling from the confrontation with Quint.  Killing Ontari would send a message and get Nia’s attention, but if there was one thing she knew about Nia, it was that she didn’t fight her own battles.  No, she would send brutes and grunts after Lexa until one of them succeeded.  She had a certain amount of anonymity in this world, and it would likely be difficult for them to track her down, but she needed more time to search for Nia under the cover of darkness.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Let this be a message to the Queen,” she said firmly, lowering the gun from Ontari’s face.  “That blood must have blood.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She aimed at Ontari’s other foot and fired, better prepared for the kick of the weapon this time.  As Ontari yelped out again in pain, Lexa gave her one last scathing look and pushed her gun next to Ontari’s in the back of her jeans.  She darted around the sofa and took off towards the window, pulling her still damp hood up and over her head.  Her hands sliced open from the jagged edges she gripped to hoist herself up and through the broken glass, and the moment her feet landed on the soggy grass below, she took off at a run.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The rain was pouring even harder than before and she pushed the hood off her head and held her face up, letting the water soak her stinging skin and rinse the black blood.  She wiped it off with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and it wasn’t until she was several blocks from the run-down house did she slow her pace.  Her mind and body were exhausted, the events of the evening finally catching up with her as her adrenaline dwindled down.  As her shoes waded through puddles she wondered briefly where her bike was, but her muscles screamed at her at the thought of going out to look for it.  It was late, and Costia would likely be worried.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Costia.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa’s heart wilted like a dead flower as the realization of what she had to do came crashing down on her.  She’d made herself known to her enemies.  She was no longer an unseen observer.  She was nameless, but she was no longer faceless.  She had opened herself up to possible retaliation, and while she thought it unlikely that Nia’s brutes would be able to trace her to the little, quiet neighborhood forty minutes away by car and over an hour by bus, images of coming home to Costia’s head on the kitchen table burned through Lexa’s mind as she pulled her hood up over her head as high as it would go and boarded the public transport bus, just as Costia had taught her several years ago.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>She would be useless to operate this world without Costia.  Her Costia had given so much of her own life, had sacrificed so much to stand by Lexa’s side in this reality as she presented herself to the world essentially as an invalid, unable to navigate her way through the unfamiliar streets, unable to perform tasks foreign to her but basic to everyone else.  Costia had patiently taught her everything, as though she held no animosity towards Lexa for waking up one day and not remembering the life they’d shared in this world.  Costia bought her a bus pass, told her to leave notes whenever she was gone so she wouldn’t worry.  Lexa had left a note, she’d said she was taking her bike to the city.  Lexa had unburied the gun she’d bought in secret months prior and hidden in the back of the closet and told Costia in an unsigned note that she would be out late.  What if she hadn’t been successful?  What if Quint had killed her, and she never got to say goodbye?  To thank Costia for everything she’d done?  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Maybe that would have been better.  It certainly would have been easier.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>All too soon, the bus Lexa had climbed on near Polis with her head held low and her hood up as far as it would go, stopped at the little bench at the end of Lexa’s neighborhood.  She swiftly passed the few other passengers, each paying no mind to the other patrons, and climbed down the steps, breathing deeply in the fresh post-rain air as the bus let out a hiss and carried on its route.  She walked slowly to the little one-story house a few streets in, with Costia’s new, strange looking car parked in the driveway.  “It’s a hybrid, Lexa!” she’d told her excitedly as she’d waved the keys in front of her face and asked her to accompany her on a ride around the block.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>The lights were still on in the living room and Lexa let out a haggard breath.  She pulled out her key and pushed it into the lock, but the door swung open before she could turn it, and she was enveloped in a clean, floral scent that always floated around Costia in the evenings after her shower.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Oh my God, Lexa,” Costia whispered as she pulled Lexa inside.  Lexa barely had the chance to snatch her key from the door as Costia pushed it shut behind them and guided her over to a chair at the kitchen table.  “What happened to you?” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa stared, her breath caught in her throat, as Costia flitted down the hall to the bathroom and emerged with what she called her “First Aid Kit.”  She couldn’t bring herself to intervene as Costia spread the kit out on the kitchen table, ripping open an alcohol swab and pressing it gingerly to the cuts scattered across Lexa’s face. She welcomed the sting, deserved it as Costia discarded the used wipe on the table, black with Lexa’s blood, and she felt sick to her stomach as Costia ripped open another.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She dragged her eyes to Costia’s worried brown orbs and gently grabbed a hold of her wrist, pushing her hand away from her face.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Costia,” she said, her voice gravelly and shaky.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Baby, what happened to you?  Did you crash on your bike?” Costia’s whispers were gentile and almost motherly.  Lexa’s heart hammered in her throat.  “Oh my – Lexa, your throat?  It’s bruised!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Costia, my love,” she croaked, unaware of the tears building in her own eyes as she gently brushed off Costia’s tender hands ghosting over Lexa’s neck that still stung from where Quint had attempted to strangle her.  Costia’s face warped into a look of deep concern.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Tell me, Lex, tell me what happened,” she urged quietly, gently wiping away a tear that snuck from the confines of Lexa’s lower eyelid.  Lexa opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure of the words to use.  No words seemed appropriate enough to break the gentile heart that beat so honestly, so lovingly, without faltering.  Costia’s hands gently cradled her cheeks, and Lexa lifted her own aching arms to grasp gently around Costia’s wrist, thumbing gently her pulse.  She closed her eyes for a moment and memorized the way it felt against her thumb, the way it pounded against the soft, thin skin of her wrist.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She felt Costia wipe underneath her eyes again and forced them open.  “My Costia, I cannot stay here with you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What?” Costia breathed, her brows furrowing in confusion.  “What are you talking about?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“There is a lightness in you that I cannot bear to take away.  You are too good, too precious,” she whispered, her eyes tracing the contours of Costia’s face, memorizing the lines and curves along her mouth, her lips.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You’re not taking anything away from me, Lexa.  I love you,” she said surely, and Lexa’s throat constricted on its own.  She shook her head gently and tugged Costia’s hands away from her face, clasping them in her own instead. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“And I love you, I have always loved you, and you will forever hold a sacred place in my heart,” Lexa spoke reverently, squeezing Costia’s hands.  Costia’s mouth had opened and she shook her head slightly, leaning back a little from Lexa’s face.  “You are so beautiful, and you flourish in this world, my love.  You were made for a life like this, and I cannot let you suffer the consequences of my actions again.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What are you saying?” Costia’s voice was pitched higher than usual, and Lexa released one of her hands to brush a curl back behind her ear.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m so grateful to you,” Lexa said fondly.  “You’ve helped me so much, stood by my side through a difficult transition.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Lexa—"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I have to go.  I must leave you.  It breaks my heart, but it would shatter if something were to happen to you,” Lexa’s voice cracked at the end of her statement, and Costia shook her head again.<br/>
“No, Lexa, you’re being ridiculous.  There’s nothing you could do that would make me—”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Please,” Lexa urged, cutting her off.  “Please trust me.  I promised you I would not take my second chance with you for granted, and we’ve come to the crossroads now.  I have an obligation to fulfill and I will not let you become a casualty of a battle that is my own to bear.”</i>
</p><p><i>“An obligation?” Costia said, her voice small and weak and crushing Lexa’s heart into a pulp with every syllable.  “You have an obligation to</i> me, <i>you promised</i> me,<i> we promised each other,” she trailed off and let go of Lexa’s hands to clutch desperately at her blood and rain-soaked jacket.  </i></p><p>
  <i>“My obligation is to keep you safe.  I will not let you die because of me,” she murmured, shaking her head and tugging Costia’s grip off her jacket.  Tears were streaming freely down Costia’s face, still drawn up in confusion and concern.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m not going to die, Lex,” she whispered, fumbling with Lexa’s fingers in her own to squeeze them tightly.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m so sorry, my love,” Lexa whispered back, leaning forward and dragging her lips tenderly across Costia’s one last time.  She pushed her body away gently and stood up from the kitchen chair, but Costia clung to her, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso and burying her face in Lexa’s neck. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Lexa, please,” she cried into the skin of her neck.  “Let’s go to bed, we can go to bed and everything will be fine in the morning.  Whatever you’re worried about, it’s all going to be okay.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Lexa shook her head and gripped Costia’s shoulders, pushing gently and putting distance between them.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I have let you down before, I cannot fail you again,” she said somberly, and Costia’s face scrunched up. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Lexa you’re – you’re crazy!  Whatever you’re thinking is real – it isn’t!  I’m – I’m sorry, you know I don’t like when people use that word about you, and I hope you know I only say it to—”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Stop, Costia, please,” Lexa pleaded, shaking her head.  She knew Costia would resist.  Her strong-willed woman was reacting the same as she had all those years ago, in a different time, a different life. She refused to accept it, refused to let Lexa fight her battle alone, and it had gotten her killed.  Not this time. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I will not put you in harm’s way.  Not again,” she said, steeling her voice.  Costia let out a choked sob and shook her head wildly.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Lexa, don’t—”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You are so strong, Costia.  Please, find love again.  Find happiness again, with someone who can give you the safety and happiness you deserve,” she fought valiantly against the tears but they won, dripping down her face as she stepped around Costia, backing away slowly to the front door.  Costia shook her head wildly, her pretty face splotchy and red, her nose running and lips quaking.<br/>
“Lexa, I deserve you,” she begged, and for a moment Lexa was worried Costia would drop to her knees and plead.  She hardened her jaw; she couldn’t hold that memory in her heart.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Goodbye, Costia.  May we meet again,” she said, spitting out the words before she could cave into her heart’s desires and wrap Costia in her arms again.  She couldn’t waste her second chance by making the same mistakes.  As Costia called out her name, Lexa closed her eyes and turned to the door.  She allowed herself one last inhale, one last breath of the scent that had become home for the last five years, before pushing through the door and tried to drown the sounds of Costia’s tears from her memory.  </i>
</p><p>“What would you like for dinner?” Lexa’s voice tore through Clarke’s tumultuous thoughts, startling her.  She jerked her head up from where she’d cradled her chin in her palm, wrist stiff from unuse.  She blinked several times, her dry and dazed eyes slowly refocusing after what felt like hours of staring but not seeing.  </p><p>“What?” she croaked, clearing her throat, attempting to pull herself together as her tired eyes found Lexa’s face, peering at her from behind the sofa.  Her long, slender arms were draped casually over the edge as she leaned her weight on her elbows. </p><p>“I asked what you would like for dinner.  It’s getting late,” Lexa repeated herself, crooking an eyebrow at Clarke.  She glanced over to the window to see the curtains mostly drawn, the darkened backdrop telling her just how long she had been left to her own thoughts.  It was all too surreal, too difficult to swallow.  She’d had a fitful night of sleep, plagued with nightmares of Madi kicking and screaming as the prisoners dragged her away from Clarke’s own lifeless body, blood pouring from every opening on her face.  She’d yelled at her body to move, to not let Madi see her like that, but it was hopeless.  She was stuck, and Madi was alone.  </p><p>Lexa had, thankfully, given her a break from the conspiracy against Nia.  She was digesting so much information she felt like she was still trapped in her dream, struggling to understand two separate worlds of issues molded into one long, difficult existence.  After everything she’d been through, after every scrape with death, why was this happening now?  She’d considered Lexa’s theory: she owed it to these people.  But for what?  To atone for her sins?  It felt too cerebral for her.  </p><p>Lexa stood up from where she’d leaned against the back of the sofa and slowly made her way around, sitting tentatively next to Clarke.  Another wave of guilt swept through her as she reflected on how she’d been treating Lexa, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel the sting of jealousy every time she looked into Lexa’s guarded eyes and thought of how they’d looked when she spoke of Costia.  It had been a sad, loving look that she hadn’t seen before in the eyes of the fearless commander, and she couldn’t help her mind wandering down a petty path in which, at the end of it, Lexa was wrapped up in the arms of a beautiful woman she’d never seen before.  </p><p>“Clarke?” Lexa pressed again as she reached out and touched her gently on the arm.  Clarke shook her head slightly and cleared her throat again, blinking away the faceless woman who was no longer a painful story from Lexa’s past.  </p><p>“Sorry, I’m not really hungry,” she responded honestly.  She avoided Lexa’s gaze and tucked her chin back into her palm as guilt swam into her heart again, guilt of the childish resentment she held against Lexa over a dead woman while her daughter was still out there, somewhere.  She shrugged off the deep, knowing feeling that she was only lying to herself, making this more complicated than the scenario presented to her.  </p><p>“I wish there was something I could say to make this easier for you,” Lexa’s voice rumbled softly through the space between them, and Clarke shut her eyes, as though that could serve as a barrier for the onslaught of emotions she’d been fighting off for the past hour, threatened by the genuinely gentile and caring tone in Lexa’s smooth voice.  </p><p>“I just wish I knew why this was happening,” she mumbled against her fingers, squeezing her eyes tighter as she felt Lexa’s hand on her back, a comforting weight.  </p><p>“You’re here for a reason,” Lexa said quietly.  “We don’t ever know anything that happens beyond the present.”  </p><p>Clarke shook her head and opened her eyes, dropping both her hands to hang between her knees.  “I’m not ready to die, Lexa,” she spoke slowly, quietly, and she felt Lexa grasp gently at the material of her sweatshirt.  She wanted to shrug it off, but her lonely, scared heart craved the contact.  Saying it out loud cemented a dull ache into the empty cavern of her heart.  The fear that had been swirling through her mind was out for the world to hear, for Lexa to know she was coming up at a dead end, and soon, would have no choice other than to believe her.  She heard Lexa sigh as her grasp tightened.</p><p>“Clarke—” she started, but a noise from the entrance to the quiet little apartment tore them both from the emotional moment, and Clarke jerked her head so quickly to the door she felt a nerve pinch in her neck.  She could see Lexa had done the same and had released Clarke’s sweatshirt to rub gingerly at the tendon on her shoulder.  </p><p>“Who’s that?” Clarke whispered harshly, her heart pounding.  She couldn’t tear her eyes away as she saw the knob turn, and as the door started to open, her heart dropped into the seat of the couch.  She wanted to close her eyes, she didn’t want to see Costia waltz in, didn’t want to see the lightness Lexa had spoken tenderly of, but her gaze remained fixed.  </p><p>Clarke’s fears evaporated at the sight of yet another ghost waltzing into the apartment, and her jaw dropped open as Anya emerged.  She knew Anya was around, Lexa had spoken of her, but she looked so different without the warpaint, without the mud and blood caking her face and hair, that Clarke almost couldn’t believe her own eyes.  Her light hair was cropped to her chin in a sharp cut that accentuated her pointed features, and she was dressed in button-up blouse and black slacks with an interesting harness over the top.  She had dark circles under her eyes and her posture slouched as she shut the door behind her, but the moment she turned and noticed the figures in the room, Clarke saw her features turn, if possible, sharper.  Her tired eyes honed in on Clarke’s own, and she snapped her mouth shut, unable to break the eye contact.</p><p>“Care to explain why there’s a missing person in my home, Lexa?” Anya’s voice was exactly how Clarke remembered: harsh and steeled.  Lexa shifted in Clarke’s peripheral vision, and that’s when she realized that Lexa had stood up upon Anya’s entrance.  Clarke tore her eyes away from Anya and raked up Lexa’s posture.  It was rather defensive, a far cry from the gentile creature that had been offering her comfort just moments prior. </p><p>“What are you talking about?” Lexa spoke, and Clarke startled again, realizing she hadn’t even registered what Anya had said.  Missing person?  Her?  She frowned and flicked her gaze between Lexa and Anya.  It was incomprehensible to see the two in the same room: she’d never seen them interact before.  It struck her as odd to think that she’d met Anya long before she knew Lexa existed, and by the time she knew Lexa, Anya was already gone.  She could still feel the soft braid she’d thumbed nervously in her pocket on her way to the commander’s tent, uncertain on who she would find behind the daunting flaps.  </p><p>“You’re harboring a missing person,” Anya responded stiffly and walked a few steps closer.  It took a moment for the shock to recede and for Clarke to realize the missing person was her, and her mouth went dry.  How could she be so ignorant to think that Finn would take her disappearance with a grain of salt and continue to live life normally?  Of course, it would worry him when she didn’t turn back up.  They were married, technically, and Clarke wanted to groan out loud at the situation she couldn’t seem to outrun.  At least he hadn’t taken matters into his own hands.</p><p>“I’m not missing, Lexa’s not harboring me,” she managed, pushing herself to stand on shaky legs, and Anya huffed.</p><p>“Clearly.  I wasn’t aware you two were on such good terms,” Anya responded stiffly, and Clarke watched as her eyes dipped down across her neck, and she felt a hot blush rush through her cheeks at what she knew Anya was seeing, mentally cursing Lexa and the moment, evening, of weakness that had dosed her with half the emotional turmoil she was currently feeling.  </p><p>“Clarke and I are old friends,” Lexa spoke stiffly, and Clarke glanced over at her as she took a step forward to put herself, almost protectively, between Anya and Clarke.  Anya folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow at Lexa, and Clarke’s eyes trailed down to the handgun she saw holstered on Anya’s harness, and she swallowed.  Anya had a gun.  </p><p>“Old friends whose paths weren’t meant to cross again?” Anya bit, and Clarke swore she could hear Lexa’s teeth crack together as she clenched her jaw.  “How long has this been going on?”</p><p>“Anya,” Lexa growled, and Clarke felt the frustration radiating off her.  It seemed after all this time Lexa still wasn’t used to her allies not loyally taking her word as scripture.  </p><p>“Oh, sorry, is this supposed to be a secret?  Because technically I’m supposed to find out where Dr. Collins-Griffin has been for the past two days, so… secret’s out,” Anya responded, and Clarke felt confused at the slight smile that was curling on her lips.  Was Anya… <i>teasing Lexa? </i> Clarke gaped at the two of them, each with their arms crossed over their chests, Anya smirking and Lexa clenching her jaw and… were the tips of her ears red?</p><p>Clarke shook her head twice.  No.  She’d gotten away to escape the charade of life these people were trapped in.  </p><p>“That’s not what this is about,” Clarke said, drawing the attention of the two women back to her.  Lexa’s eyes were tracing her face searchingly, and Anya had risen her eyebrows at her in surprise.  </p><p>“What is it, then?  A <i>private consultation</i>?” she wagged her fingers and rolled her eyes.  “God, no.  I’m really too tired for this shit.”</p><p>As Anya raised her left arm to pinch the bridge of her nose, Clarke dragged her eyes back to the gun as the pieces started clicking together.  Anya was involved with the police.  She’d been notified when Finn had reported her missing, she’d responded to the call.  Her mind pumped through the information wildly as she stared at Anya’s firearm; Lexa had told her she hadn’t told anyone of her discoveries involving Nia, but hadn’t she seen her bedroom?  They obviously lived together, and it was blatantly obvious for anyone who stepped foot in the room that Lexa was obsessed with the Ice Queen and her exploits.  She’d been so adamant about not involving the police… but why, when Anya, her mentor, was right here?  Did Lexa not trust her?</p><p>“Go to bed, Anya.  We can discuss this further in the morning,” Lexa said stiffly, still holding her arms tight against her chest.  Clarke could see the muscles in her forearms flexing from restraint, and she bit her lip and looked back at Anya, who was scoffing and pulling out a phone.</p><p>“But does Mr. Collins really deserve another sleepless night, wondering where his dear old wife has gotten off to?” Anya drawled as she swiped her fingers across the screen, then paused, looking up to Clarke. </p><p>“Finn will be fine.  I told him I was leaving,” she knew she was bending the truth, but the situation had grown so complicated so quickly that she couldn’t comprehend what would be acceptable Doctor Clarke behavior.  As far as she knew, Anya didn’t know her alternate self well or Lexa wouldn’t have introduced her as an old friend, so she felt a little more freedom in her responses and reactions, but still the trying role of filling shoes that weren’t meant for her crept up her throat like an anxious tick she couldn’t completely will away.  </p><p>“That’s quite different than the sob story I just endured.  Everyone’s worried you’ve been kidnapped,” Anya retorted, and Clarke wanted to scream.  She held it in and pushed her chin up a little higher, attempted to force some nonchalance into her tone. </p><p>“He’s always been a little dramatic,” she supplied, forcing a stiff shrug out of her left shoulder.  </p><p>“Why didn’t you bring your purse?” Anya drilled, and Clarke had the feeling she was being interrogated.  Oh, what she wouldn’t give to return to her previous interrogation.  Negotiating peace and hers and her daughter’s lives with a strange woman who fell from space?  That felt like child’s play compared to the harrowing stare Anya was pinning her with, undoubtedly comparing every word she said with the story Finn had told her.  </p><p>“Didn’t need it,” she said as coolly as she could.  Anya’s eyes darted to Lexa’s.  </p><p>“Right,” she dragged her gaze back to Clarke, the strange mixture of aggravation and mirth giving way to a seriousness that Clarke recognized from years ago.  “Has he hurt you?”</p><p>Clarke quickly shook her head.  “No, no it’s nothing like that,” she was quick to supply.  Why did everyone assume the worst of Finn?  Anya stared at her, long and hard, before letting out a low sigh.  </p><p>“Did you know about this, Lexa?” she asked without looking at her friend. </p><p>“No,” Lexa replied, and for a split-second Clarke was worried that Lexa was upset by the revelation of Clarke having a husband.  They hadn’t spoken much about what Clarke had endured since arriving in this hellish nightmare.  She hadn’t had a chance to tell her she was supposedly married to Finn, that Doctor Clarke and Finn shared a child who had no idea what was happening to his life, who was probably terrified that his mother was missing.  Guilt clawed at her heart.  She shouldn’t have run out the way she did, she should have set the stage better.  After all this time, she still couldn’t foresee the inevitable crushing of hearts and bodies that every endeavor she embarked on left in its wake.  </p><p>“You didn’t know she was married?” Anya repeated in disbelief, and Lexa shook her head.  Clarke frowned at Lexa.  She couldn’t honestly be upset about a choice she hadn’t made.  </p><p>“I assumed she was.  I didn’t know she was missing,” Lexa clarified stoically.  </p><p>“And you still slept with her?”</p><p>“This isn’t important,” Clarke interrupted, stepping forward between the two women before Lexa had a chance to respond.  </p><p>“Clarke,” Lexa spoke quietly, her words laced with a warning Clarke ignored. </p><p>“No, she’s right.  It’s not my job to judge the stupid things people do,” Anya said as she returned to her phone.  “I’ll call off the search party, you can deal with your husband yourself.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Clarke spoke stiffly and fell back into the couch with a huff.  Crisis temporarily adverted, but she knew she couldn’t go back to Finn, not after finding Lexa, someone who understood a modicum of what she was going through.  Even if it meant she had to resign and help Lexa with her little quest.</p><p>“And by that, I mean get out of my house,” Anya snapped, her eyes unmoving from her phone as she typed away.  </p><p>“Clarke is here as my guest,” Lexa said, advancing on Anya, who didn’t bother to look up at Lexa. </p><p>“Don’t care,” she murmured, and Clarke put her head in her hand as she listened to Lexa grit her teeth.  After a moment of tense silence, Anya let out a loud sigh and pushed her phone back into her pocket, the noise causing both Clarke and Lexa to look up at her.  </p><p>“I’m going to go and sleep for about thirteen hours.  You –” she pointed at Clarke, “Be gone when I wake up.  You –” she turned to Lexa.  “Be quiet.”</p><p>Clarke could practically feel Lexa seething as Anya stalked off down the hallway and opened one of the doors, shutting it behind her with a loud slam.  </p><p>“Lexa?” Clarke asked quietly of the woman who remained still, staring at the wall behind where Anya’s head used to be.  Lexa turned her face slightly, and Clarke frowned at her profile. “I – I didn’t know he’d be looking for me.”</p><p>Lexa’s eyebrows rose, as though she hadn’t been expecting Clarke to say that.  She turned to her and walked over slowly to the couch, crouching in front of Clarke’s knees and holding out her hands, almost shyly.  Though the position made Clarke feel like a child, she craved the reassurance from Lexa, and slipped her hands into Lexa’s strong, comforting grasp. </p><p>“You know you are free to go back if you wish, Clarke.  You can go anywhere you want.  I will not force you to stay here,” Lexa spoke seriously, her eyes boring into Clarke’s with an openness and honesty that Clarke couldn’t bring herself to look away from.  </p><p>“I don’t want to go back,” she said quietly, truthfully, the admission making her feel small and lost.  She didn’t want to go back to square one, and if she had to be stuck in this reality, which she wasn’t entirely convinced of yet, she didn’t want to be trapped as Finn’s wife and Abby’s employee.  </p><p>“That’s all right.  You can stay here, Anya will come around,” she spoke gently, and Clarke opened her mouth to disagree, when Lexa barreled on.  “But we will be gone tomorrow by the time Anya wakes.  I want to show you something.”</p><p>“Lexa, why don’t you want Anya to know about Nia?” Clarke asked, leaning forward slightly to level her gaze with Lexa’s.  Her face hardened for a moment, and she stared quietly at Clarke, as if searching for the right words to say. </p><p>“Anya is happy here.  I cannot ask her to sacrifice her job for my cause,” she said simply after what felt like years.  Clarke frowned.</p><p>“But she would, wouldn’t she?”</p><p>“Yes.  And that’s the problem.”</p><p>“How are you keeping all of that—” she gestured blindly behind her towards the hallway that led to Lexa’s room. “From her?”</p><p>Lexa’s face twisted into a wry smile.  “Anya does not go into my bedroom.”</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>The pair readied for bed side by side, Clarke borrowing a spare toothbrush Lexa had pulled from the cabinet underneath the sink.  She felt silly as she brushed her teeth alongside Lexa, glancing wearily at the other toothbrush that could only be Anya’s.  Another curiosity tugged at her mind about the whereabouts of Costia, but she kept them to herself, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful mood that had washed over Lexa the moment she agreed to spend the night next to her again.  </p><p>They retreated to Lexa’s bedroom where Clarke tried not to look at the papers taped all over the walls.  She’d made her choice, back in the living room, but she wasn’t ready to face it yet.  She wanted one more night to forget, even if it made tomorrow harder.  Lexa pulled out a soft pair of flannel pants and a worn T shirt for Clarke to borrow for bed, and as she folded her jeans and sweatshirt to set next to the small pile of keepsakes she’d set on Lexa’s desk, Lexa crept up behind her and placed a soft, warm hand tentatively on the small of Clarke’s back.</p><p>“Are you doing okay?” she asked delicately, and Clarke turned away from the desk and offered Lexa a small smile. </p><p>“I guess I’m still a little overwhelmed.  I didn’t think death would be so… complicated,” she said, trying to keep the sullen moody air out of her tone that had bombarded her mind for the better portion of the day.  Lexa offered a grim smile in return and let her hand lazily fall to Clarke’s hip.  </p><p>“Tomorrow I’ll show you something that has made it easier for me.  You don’t have to do this alone,” Lexa spoke easily, almost lightly, and Clarke only nodded, her throat feeling choked and uncooperative. <i> I’m not giving up on you, Madi,</i> she told herself as her eyes landed on the collar of Lexa’s plain black T shirt. <i> I swear I never will.  </i></p><p>“I’ll do it,” she said suddenly, breaking the easy silence that had fallen between them.  Lexa startled as if she, too, had been lost in her own thoughts, and looked at Clarke questioningly.  “I’ll help you.  I’ll kill whoever you want.”  </p><p>“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Lexa said, but Clarke put her hand up to quiet Lexa and shook her head.  </p><p>“I will never be able to stop looking for her,” Clarke said seriously, looking up into Lexa’s eyes that shone even in the dim lamplight of Lexa’s bedroom at nighttime.  “But you’re right.  We found each other for a reason.  I trust you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Run, Run, Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How did you find this place?” Clarke breathed, wiping at her sweaty forehead.  A soft breeze flew welcomingly through the trees, rustling the leaves and enveloping her in a feeling familiar enough that she could relax, close her eyes and pretend she was home again.  “It’s beautiful.”</p><p>Lexa nodded as she came to a halt beside Clarke, looking out upon the small, hidden mountain lake.  Soft patches of grass hanging on to the last thread of fall before winter swept through the mountains surrounded the crisp, transparent water that flowed at a leisurely pace down a small crack of rocks, refilled just as lazily by a trickle of a waterfall.  </p><p>“I’ve been coming here since I was a child.  It looks so different now, I almost couldn’t believe it, but look,” Lexa leaned in closer to Clarke and pointed up towards the peak of the mountain, standing proudly against the skyline, broadcasting warm hues of oranges and yellows, surrounding the stubborn green trees that refused to believe summer was over.  Clarke frowned and tried to share Lexa’s perspective. </p><p>“What am I looking at?” she asked after a moment.  Lexa let out a soft snort and let her arm drop, her hand grazing along the bare skin of Clarke’s arm as it descended to her side.  </p><p>“The shape of the peak.  Don’t you recognize it?  In the Old World, it was the same.  I’d stare at it for hours from this spot over here,” Lexa brushed past Clarke as she made her way over to where an ancient tree stood proudly up against the little creek.  Lexa stepped over the small current and squatted beside the tree, angling her chin towards the mountaintop.  </p><p>“There wasn’t any water when I sat here,” she said after a moment, and Clarke’s cheeks tugged up into a smile at the way Lexa closed her eyes and opened her lips, the picture of relaxation.  It was an odd look for her, but Clarke found herself staring, memorizing every inch of detail she could manage.  </p><p>Lexa had been right about this place; it was the perfect escape.  Clarke had woken feeling agitated, torn between wanting to get on with Lexa’s mission and wanting to spend any spare moment searching for a way back to Madi, but Lexa had been insistent.  Lexa had guided her through the horrors of the public transportation system, and they’d walked for miles before even reaching the wilderness trail, but after being submerged in the trees and the leaves without a single reminder of where she actually was, Clarke felt calmer, clearer.  </p><p>Another breeze blew through the trees and Clarke tugged open the knot of sleeves she’d made to hold her new borrowed jacket around her waist.  Lexa had pointed out that she would be more comfortable in layers, and had supplied her with a soft T shirt that was too tight, and the same hooded, baggy jacket that Lexa had worn the night in the parking lot, and the following day during their reunion.  She slipped her arms through the sleeves and stepped over the creek, following Lexa’s path to the tree.  </p><p>“I wish I’d known about it,” she murmured as she bent into a crouch near Lexa, staring back up against the crisp line of foliage against the light blue sky.  She tried to imagine it, attempted to sift through memories to see if she’d ever taken the chance to look up and enjoy the sight, but all her memories revolved around Madi.  Her tiny face scowling at Clarke any opportunity she could, the anger slowly fading into happiness and comfort when she began to trust Clarke, when she became a child again instead of a child warrior, the sole survivor of her people left to fend for herself.  “I wish I could have shown Madi.”  It wasn’t hard to make up the memory.  She could see Madi’s round cherub face staring up at the sky, cheeks red from how she surely would have run up the mountain, laughter in her eyes and smile.  Almost as though it had really happened.</p><p>She felt Lexa shift beside her, and a warm arm was draped over her shoulders a moment later, drawing her into Lexa’s side.  The position was awkward, with her knees bent and twisted, her ankles straining from balancing her weight at an unnatural angle, but she let herself enjoy the embrace.  </p><p>“You never know,” Lexa’s voice seemed to harmonize with the rustling trees and the soft trickle of the creek as it flowed lazily past their feet.  “Maybe she’s looking at it right now.”</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>A soft knock rapped against the doorframe of the bunker room she’d been offered, but Madi didn’t budge from where she was curled up on the bed.  The itchy blankets had only served a reminder to where she was, so they’d been kicked into a pile on the floor.  Her life had changed so drastically in the past few days that she could barely process what was happening outside her own head.  A war was brewing, Octavia had rallied her Wonkru soldiers to march on Shallow Valley, to destroy what was left of her home after it had been taken over and ransacked by the prisoners.  She was in the bunker that Clarke had spent so much time trying to get in, surrounded by Clarke’s people, her friends, yet it all felt so surreal that all she felt capable of was trying desperately to sleep.  She closed her eyes, praying she would wake up in her own bed with Clarke’s soft snores gliding through the quiet, peaceful night.  </p><p>“Madi?” a gentile voice followed the knock, and Madi burrowed her face deeper into the flat, hard mattress.  She felt more than heard Gaia’s swift, precise movements as she crossed the small, dark room and sat down on the edge of the bed near Madi’s feet.  “It’s time.”</p><p>“I’m not going,” Madi spoke into the mattress and slid her hand under her pillow to grip the small toy panther Niylah had given her the day she got to the bunker.  She’d kept it close, holding it under her pillow as she tried to sleep, running her fingers mindlessly down the legs and snout of the carved animal.  She felt a gentile hand on her leg as a heavier set of footsteps slowly made their way into the room, stopping a few feet away from the bed.  </p><p>“It’s a good chance to… say goodbye,” Bellamy’s low voice sounded rough and strangled, and Madi clenched her jaw and shook her head.  She couldn’t.  She had been there when Jackson turned off the machines.  She watched as he pulled the tubes out of her throat and nose, she watched as Clarke’s mouth hung open and her chest stopped moving.  She sat through Abby’s agonizing howls of grief and Niylah’s silent, steady stream of tears.  She could still hear the gasp of pain Bellamy choked out as he buried his face in Echo’s shoulder.  That was the goodbye she got.  </p><p>“I already said goodbye,” Madi said sharply, and she could almost imagine the pitiful looks Bellamy and Gaia were shooting at each other.  It was how all her interactions had gone since she arrived.  </p><p>“We won’t force you to go,” Gaia said, her voice a little firmer, “but regret is a heavy burden to bear.”</p><p>Madi’s chin shook despite how tightly she was biting her lip, and she ground her face into the mattress as hard as she could.  She held her breath until her chest hurt and her head felt light, and then she let it go, ragged and pained and still heavy inside her lungs.  What would Clarke do?  She knew it wasn’t a fair question to ask herself.  If Clarke were in her position, she probably would have shot every prisoner dead or died trying.  Shame washed through her, coating the fear and grief.  Clarke would have fought, and she was hiding.  Not that any of Clarke’s friends would have let her out of their sight long enough for her to make a move. </p><p>A little voice prodded in her head, breaking up the self-depreciating thoughts and sounding eerily like the voice she would never hear again.  A no-nonsense, <i>you’re going</i>.     </p><p>“Fine,” she said, more to the voice in her head than the two adults, little more than strangers, crowding around her.  She slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, wiping furiously at the raw skin underneath her eyes.  She glanced between Bellamy and Gaia, the latter with a look of genuine sympathy and Bellamy staring at the ground, his freckled cheeks blotchy and his eyes looking red and tired.  </p><p>Gaia wordlessly stood up and held an arm out for Madi.  She ignored it and pushed herself off the bed, keeping her eyes to the ground as she shoved the small figure clutched in her hand as inconspicuously as she could into her pocket.  Her focus was on deep breaths and the sound of three pairs of feet trudging down the deserted bunker hallway.  She and Bellamy followed Gaia as she led them through the labyrinth, up endless sets of stairs and around corners that she’d never remember in a million years.  Finally, they reached the bloody room.  As she spent the days hiding out and grieving in her little bunker bedroom, someone, likely Wonkru, had fashioned some makeshift stairs up and out of the bunker, and Madi climbed.  The closer they got to ground level, the harder her heart was pulsating against her throat.  She desperately moved her tongue around her mouth, licking the inside of her cheeks to combat the dryness, but she felt like she had been caught in the sandstorm without anything to cover her face.  Her eyes burned and her lungs felt like shards of glass had embedded themselves.</p><p>“I can’t do this,” she mumbled, stopping in her tracks.  Bellamy’s hands flew to her shoulders to stop him colliding into her, and she shrugged them off and shook her head, making to turn around. </p><p>“Hey, hey,” Bellamy said, stepping down a few stone slabs until they were nearly eye-level.  Madi tore her eyes away from the caring brown orbs that Clarke had spoken so highly of.  She shook her head and stared at the jagged stone line across the sky where the prisoners had dug into the bunker.  “It’s okay, Madi.  It’s going to be okay.”</p><p>“You don’t know that,” she said, refusing to meet his gaze.  She couldn’t look at him. </p><p>“I know how much you loved her.  I can only imagine how much she loved you,” he spoke earnestly.  “This isn’t the end, you know.  She’s always going to be with you.”</p><p>Cold, angry tears formed in the ducts of Madi’s eyes, blurring her vision.  She roughly wiped them away and shook her head.  She didn’t believe him.  How could she when she felt so incredibly… alone.  She was surrounded by people, checked on constantly.  Not once had she been forgotten, cast aside in the chaos of Blodreina’s war against the prisoners and Clarke’s untimely… She shook her head again.  Clarke’s friends had been nothing but supportive of her, but that was it: they were Clarke’s friends.  She’d seen many of these people before, drawn out on paper through Clarke’s eyes, and Clarke had lifted them all up on pedestals.  Looking at them now, without Clarke’s gravelly voice painting pictures of heroic endeavors and brilliant escapes, she felt empty.  They were strangers to her, strangers who only reminded her of who she had lost and wasn’t getting back.  </p><p>“Come on, Madi.  We’re nearly there,” Gaia’s soft voice broke her thoughts, and she was grateful.  Clarke hadn’t drawn a picture of Gaia, and she was featured in very few of the stories that Madi begged for night after night.  Gaia was a blank slate, a truly fresh face.  Being around Bellamy was hard.  She dragged her eyes up to meet his and hoped her eyes conveyed the apology she couldn’t voice.  </p><p>A few more steps, and Madi had cleared the bunker.  The dust of what was once Polis flew up from the ground with each step of her boots, and she focused on that instead of smelling the smoke from the torches that were surrounding the fountain.  She dug her nails into her palm instead of looking at the small pyre built in a hurry by the few people who weren’t following Blodreina, by the few people who acknowledged that Clarke was gone.    </p><p>“There she is,” Niylah’s voice sounded, and Madi dragged her eyes up from the prints left behind by Gaia’s boots.  Niylah stood in front of the small, crooked stack of logs, partially obscuring the unmistakable thin brown cloth wrapped tightly around the shape that could only be a body.  She jerked her eyes away and scanned the rest of the small group that was gathered close, quiet and somber.  Monty and Harper clutched each other’s hands and were speaking quietly, their heads bent together.  Emori wasn’t far from them, and Echo had left her side to join Bellamy’s as the trio approached the funeral party.  </p><p>“Where’s Abby?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.  While she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about the elder Griffin woman, it didn’t seem right that she wasn’t here to bid her daughter a final goodbye. </p><p>“Abby has made her choice and parted ways with Wonkru,” Niylah spoke, and Madi felt Bellamy bristle beside her.</p><p>“What happened?” he asked, and Niylah shook her head, her eyes flickering to Gaia.  </p><p>“Shall we begin?”</p><p>Gaia nodded and grasped Madi’s hand, giving it a squeeze, before she walked a few paces up and stopped near the pyre, producing something unseen from the pocket of her coat and sprinkling it over Clarke’s body.  </p><p>“Today we lay to rest the brave Wanheda, Mountain Slayer, destroyer of the City of Light,” Gaia recited as though it were a prayer, but Madi failed to grasp the sentiment, stuck on the words.  Wanheda?  Clarke had never mentioned being Wanheda.  In all the stories, all the tales Clarke had told, she hadn’t mentioned slaying mountains or – anything at all about the City of Light.  She couldn’t pay attention as Niylah stepped forward and drizzled more – ashes?  Dirt? – on the brown fabric wrapped tightly around Clarke’s unmoving form, speaking softly in Trigedasleng.    </p><p>In some of Madi’s earliest memories, the ones she fought to never access because of the pain it brought her, she could remember talk through the village of the Great Wanheda kom Skaikru, slayer of the <i>Maunon</i>, but why… why hadn’t Clarke said anything?  They’d had so much time together; Clarke had told her <i>so much</i>.  She spared no detail describing the stifling horrors of growing up in space, the trials they’d encountered when they had to learn to survive on the ground.  She’d told her about how Raven had saved them all by turning the blasters on their ship to fend off a 300 strong attack, how Bellamy had courageously gone undercover in Mount Weather to free their people and those held captive.  Why had she left her own involvement out of the story?  How did she not know this about her until she was gone?  Her throat tightened uncomfortably with unasked questions, and her eyes prickled with unshed tears.  A myriad of emotions were battling through her brain to take control, but hurt and anger directed towards <i>Clarke</i> was becoming prevalent, slashing through the grief and loneliness and hopelessness.  How dare she leave Madi with so many loose ends to tie up herself?</p><p>Bellamy moved from beside her and stepped up to join Niylah and Gaia near Clarke’s body.  “In peace, may you leave the shore,” he spoke clearly, producing from his pocket what looked to be a folded-up piece of paper, mangled and pliable from extending handling.  “In love, may you find the next.  Safe passage on your travels.  Until our final journey on the ground… may we meet again.”</p><p>“May we meet again,” the small group murmured, and Madi’s eyes were swimming with tears.  Tears of grief, tears of anger, running helplessly down her face.  Gaia had stepped away from Clarke’s body as Bellamy spoke and Madi was jolted back to reality by a soft hand on her shoulder.  Madi could only comply as Gaia guided her up to the pyre, the tears pounding harder with each step she took.  The next thing she knew, the torch was being gently placed into her own hands, and she could no longer hold in the sob that had built its way slowly up through her body and threatened to burst her lungs.  </p><p>“<i>Yu gonplei ste odon</i>,” Gaia said, and Madi looked up at her, blinking furiously through her tears. </p><p>“I can’t,” she mouthed, her voice was noiseless.  Gaia gave her forearm a squeeze and guided it down with her, and the heat from the fire sent Madi’s emotions into overdrive.  She watched helplessly as Clarke’s body caught fire, the flames dancing across her sightline and entirely consuming the brown fabric.  She dropped the torch and stumbled back as the flames rose, higher and higher, until the entire pyre was ablaze. That was it.  Clarke was really gone.</p><p>She drew in a shuddering breath and stepped back again, putting more distance between her and what was left of Clarke.  Heavy plumes floated up from the flames and rose, higher and higher, until they dissipated into the sky, spreading out, becoming part of the air.  The air that felt thick in Madi’s lungs, each breath a painful draw.  She could taste the smoke in her dry mouth, and she felt like she was going to be sick.  </p><p>Sturdy arms wrapped around her, and she turned and buried her face in Bellamy’s chest.  The sobs, pressurized from being contained, erupted, and Madi was sure that had Bellamy not been holding her up, she’d be on the ground.  This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be.  It was just the other day she was begging Clarke to dye her hair, just the other day it was just the two of them, together, without a care in the world.  She didn’t want to be left here, without Clarke.  It wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t right that she had to live, that she had to burn Clarke’s body.  It wasn’t fair that Clarke left her alone with strangers, alone without any idea of what to actually do.  Octavia was crazy, Abby was gone, and Clarke’s friends from space seemed just as lost as she did.  </p><p>She stiffened and pushed away from Bellamy angrily.  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, but her voice was waterlogged and weak.  As Bellamy’s arms fell to his side, and Madi clenched her fist and prepared to run anywhere but where she was, a shout rang out through the destroyed, deserted streets of Polis.  </p><p>“Prepare the med bay!” it was a male voice; another she didn’t recognize.  She snapped her head to the direction of the sound, and his figure emerged from behind a pile of concrete.  He was running, sprinting, and as he got closer, Madi could see splatters of blood on his clothes and face.  “Quick!  It’s Blodreina!”</p><p>“No,” Bellamy muttered, and he jerked into motion, his body taking longer than his mind to decide to run.  As he took off toward the man, Niylah was the first of the others to react, and she darted back towards the bunker.  “What happened?” he demanded as he met the man halfway.</p><p>“There’s something – something out there.  In the desert.  It’s killed several of our men but – but we got it contained in Blodreina.  Jackson needs to operate,” he gasped, clutching his side.  Sweat was rolling down his face, streaking the blood that obviously wasn’t his, and Madi could only watch as a crowd of Wonkru appeared along the horizon.</p><p>“What do you mean you got it contained?  What is it?” Bellamy demanded, but the man shook his head and pushed Bellamy aside. </p><p>“There is no time to explain.  Make way for Blodreina,” he said as the warriors drew closer.  The scene unfolded so quickly before Madi’s eyes that she almost couldn’t follow along.  The warriors remained huddled together, surrounding something Madi couldn’t see, but knew to be Octavia.  They hurried down the bunker with Bellamy on their heels. </p><p>“What’s out there, Madi?” Monty surprised her, drawing her attention back to the present.  She blinked at him.  Her face was stiff from the dried tears and she felt tired, exhausted, but the momentary distraction from her pain had calmed her throbbing heart, and she swallowed, forcing the grief and misery at bay, at least for now.</p><p>“I—I don’t know.  We… we never—the sandstorms are dangerous out there,” she stumbled through her words, shaking her head.  Monty nodded and shared a look with Harper and Emori.</p><p>“I have an idea,” Monty said.  He reached over and lifted the flap on the bag slung around Harper’s shoulders, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a bottle of what looked to be green slime.  Madi frowned at the twin groans from Harper and Emori as he brandished it. </p><p>“The algae?” Emori said, running her hand down her face.  Monty’s face broke out into a grin as he wiggled it, the thick liquid sloshing inside.</p><p>“The algae.  I’ll be in the hydro farm,” he said, and with that, he turned and took off towards the bunker. </p><p>“What’s he talking about?” Madi said, turning to the three women.  Gaia looked as confused as she did, but Harper looked excited and Emori looked… mildly amused.  </p><p>“Monty, as brilliant as he is, came up with a disgusting way for all of us to survive,” Emori said, looking between Madi and Gaia. “Don’t worry, it shouldn’t put any of us in a coma this time.”</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>“This is such bullshit!” Madi exclaimed, back in her designated room in the bunker with Gaia.  The woman didn’t falter, only shut the door behind them and moved to flip on the light switch.  The bulb buzzed to life and filled the room with an ugly fluorescent glow, and Madi clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles cracked.  “Clarke’s gone, and they don’t even care!”</p><p>“I know how you feel, Madi,” Gaia said smoothly, but that only irritated her further.  </p><p>“No, you don’t.  Clarke didn’t really even know you,” she snapped, throwing a swift kick into the metal leg of the bunk bed.  </p><p>“I understand the pain of losing someone you love,” Gaia said, unfazed by Madi’s outburst.  </p><p>“Why are they letting the prisoners get away with this?  Why are they letting them get away with killing her?” she seethed.  She had reached the point of exhaustion where she was no longer tired, but instead buzzing with an angry, nervous energy that was aching to be released.  She began pacing, her boots thudding dully on the stone ground as she walked the length of the small room, back and forth. </p><p>“Octavia’s the only one who’s even trying to do something about it,” she barreled on.  “Bellamy doesn’t give a shit about anything but her, but he said himself that he doesn’t want to fight with them!  I heard him tell Echo! All the others want to do is stay here and pretend nothing happened!  There’s got to be something we can do,” she stopped suddenly in front of Gaia, her chest heaving.  Gaia’s face had morphed into a unique expression that Madi didn’t recognize, peering thoughtfully up at Madi as she towered above her in the chair.</p><p>“There is never a clear right or wrong answer when it comes to war,” Gaia spoke finally.  She stood slowly from the chair and Madi took a step back, keeping her eyes locked on Gaia’s. </p><p>“Madi,” she continued.  “Do you know much about what makes a Commander, a Commander?”</p><p>Madi’s heart sped up, and she shook her head quickly, probably too quickly to seem natural.  She’d been so careful, she’d told everyone the same story, just as Clarke had rehearsed with her.  Why, then, was Gaia looking at her like she’d just had an idea even better than Monty’s algae?  </p><p>“I—I thought the time of the Commanders was over,” she spoke, trying to keep her voice steady.  Gaia’s eyes seemed to light up. </p><p>“What do you know about the role of the <i>fleimkepa</i>?” </p><p>Madi’s eyes widened and she shook her head.  Her parents had hidden her from the <i>fleimkepa</i> scouts all those years ago.  She was so young, she barely remembered anything other than being afraid of them.  Everything she knew about them was from that time in her life, as Clarke had never brought it up, and in the boring, blissful safety of the life she and Clarke had for six years, she’d forgotten her worries.  </p><p>With his ever-impeccable timing, Bellamy burst through the door of Madi’s designated room.  She could tell after one look at him that Octavia had survived whatever had happened to her in that desert.  </p><p>“She’s all right,” he said.  Gaia nodded at him, and Madi stared at her for a moment.  She looked… disappointed?  Gaia was not like the rest of Wonkru.  “Did you hear about the algae?”</p><p>As Gaia nodded, Madi’s irritation began seeping back in.  Clarke’s ashes hadn’t even blown away, for crying out loud! </p><p>“Have you told Blodreina?” Gaia asked, and Bellamy sighed and rubbed his face.  </p><p>“We’re going to wait until it starts yielding.  She’s still hell bent on getting to Shallow Valley and taking out the prisoners.”</p><p>“Wonkru is strong, but I don’t think we are strong enough to face an army as large as you say theirs is,” Gaia sighed, and Bellamy nodded.  </p><p>“If only I could get Octavia to see that.”</p><p>“We just have to have faith,” Gaia said, and Madi looked up from where her eyes had drawn to the floor, feeling Gaia’s gaze on her.  </p><p>“We might need a little more than faith.”</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>Madi was jerked from a fitful sleep by an alarm blaring.  She was thoroughly startled, having never heard a sound like that before, as she scrambled to pick herself up from where she’d toppled off the bed, tangled in the blankets.  The spike of adrenaline upon being torn from slumber was responsible for the lack of pain she felt where the entire left side of her body had collided with the cold, hard stone, but before she could register much more, the door flew open and Gaia appeared, still fully dressed.</p><p>
“Madi,” she said urgently, and Madi paused amid tugging on one of her boots.</p><p>“What’s going on?”</p><p>“There’s a fire.”</p><p>“In the bunker?” Madi asked as she sloppily tied the laces and moved on to the other boot, squinting through the darkness to follow Gaia’s platinum blonde hair as she gathered Madi’s jacket and held it out to her. </p><p>“Yes.  I want you to stay with me,” she said simply, and had the situation been calmer, Madi could have rolled her eyes as she shrugged on the offered jacket.  She blinked several times to rid her eyes of the stickiness they still felt from sleep as Gaia motioned for her to follow as she headed out into the hallway.  Madi’s eyes darted to her bed, squinting through the dim as she tossed the fallen blankets on top and hurriedly patted them, feeling around for her little panther.  She found the elusive little guy suffocating in the mess of blankets and snatched it up, slipping it quickly into the pocket of her jacket as she hurried off after Gaia down the hallway.  </p><p>Once again, she lost track of where they went as they headed through doorways and stairwells, eventually coming upon the cafeteria. The smell of smoke was almost overwhelming, and as they hurried through the empty tables, Madi saw the now familiar group of people shadowed in front of the brightest blaze she’d ever seen.  Octavia stood in front of the flames, facing the group, and Madi came to a halt behind Gaia.</p><p>“You took away the choice,” Indra spoke lowly, Madi could barely hear her over the cracking of the fire and the blaring of the alarm.  </p><p>“You still have one,” Octavia said.  Her eyes were sharp beneath the layer of blood that coated her face, running down her cheeks.  “Stay here and die, or march with me and live.”</p><p>The group stood still, in shock, and Octavia pushed through roughly, pausing when she came to Madi.  She looked down at her strangely, and Madi held her chin up as Octaiva’s eyes dragged across her face at an almost lazy pace.  She was sure Octavia was going to say something, but she snapped her head back to the rest of the group.  </p><p>“Remember.  You are Wonkru, or you are the enemy of Wonkru.  Choose,” with her chilling message, she stormed off, leaving the blazing hydro farm in her wake.  Madi glanced worriedly over to the others.  Monty and Bellamy had immediately devolved into a hushed conversation.</p><p>“We won’t win.  Even with the eye in the sky down—” Monty said, running agitated hands through his hair.</p><p>“We don’t have another choice.  We’re going to die if we stay here,” Bellamy urged, and his eyes flickered to Gaia and Indra.  </p><p>“Let us get away from the flames,” Gaia said, and the group hurried out of the cafeteria.  Madi followed Gaia closely, and they hurried into a small room, much the same as any other.  A small table sat in the center and bunks lined the walls.  The group shuffled inside, and Indra was the first to speak up.  </p><p>“We have to fight,” Indra said simply, and Bellamy stepped forward, blocking Madi’s view of the fierce woman.</p><p>“We can’t start another war.  We just need more time.  I trust Echo and Raven,” Bellamy said, and Madi frowned as she peered around Gaia.  She had obviously missed some of the events that had transpired while self-isolating in her room.  Madi shifted around to get a better view and to stand closer to Gaia.  </p><p>“We don’t have time.  It’ll be months before I can use the algae to make the soil arable outside,” Monty said, a panic lacing his words.  </p><p>“We die trying to survive or we die sitting here, doing nothing.  As long as Octavia is in charge, we won’t be able to negotiate anything with the prisoners,” Bellamy said.  Madi’s blood bubbled.  Why was Bellamy so hell-bent on making peace with Clarke’s murderers?</p><p>“There are people in this bunker who would give their lives to protect Blodreina,” Indra spoke in her usual tone: formal, stiff, and steady.  Madi briefly wondered if the woman had ever smiled, when Gaia’s voice brought her back to the conversation.</p><p>“A word, Bellamy?” Gaia asked, and Bellamy looked up at her, an eyebrow cocked.  “In private.”</p><p>Bellamy stared at her a while before he nodded, and the rest of the group slowly filed out of the room.  </p><p>“I’ll be waiting outside,” Indra said, and Gaia nodded, turning to Madi.  </p><p>“Madi, will you please wait with Indra?” she said, and Madi slowly nodded, not entirely comfortable with the idea of being alone with the stern woman, but followed her out of the room.  The door shut behind them and she watched Monty and Harper walk off together, frowning as she wondered where Echo and Emori were.  They hadn’t joined the group at the scene of the fire.  She hadn’t seen them since Clarke’s funeral a few days prior, but she hadn’t really seen anyone except for Gaia and Bellamy.  </p><p>She and Indra stood in silence as the muffled sound of voices flew through the barest cracks in the door.  She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it sounded heated.  She shifted on her feet and thumbed the little panther in her pocket and tried to make sense of the strange events that had transpired in the middle of the night.  Something bigger was going on than just Octavia wanting to fight for the land, and she had a feeling that she was missing some key factors in this strange game.</p><p>The private conversation between Gaia and Bellamy was surprisingly quick, and she noted a strange wordless interaction between Gaia and Indra the moment the door swung open.  Indra’s eyes darted to hers and she looked instantly away.</p><p>
“I’ll be with Octavia,” she muttered, and stalked off down the hallway, leaving Madi alone with Bellamy and Gaia.  </p><p>“Madi, can we speak with you for a moment?” Gaia asked softly, and Madi nodded uncertainly, not really feeling like she had much of a choice as she stepped back into the room.  Bellamy shut the door behind them and she turned to face the two adults, both looking at her in a way that made her heart pump nervously.</p><p>“Madi,” Gaia started and turned to her, pulling something small from the pocket of her long coat.  Madi stiffened, and her eyes locked to the unfamiliar object in Gaia’s hand.  “I would never force this on you, and I won’t.”</p><p>Madi took a step back, bumping into the table behind her.  Bellamy stepped forward, holding his hands up.</p><p>“It’s okay,” he spoke softly, glancing to Gaia.  “It’s okay, we won’t let anything hurt you.”</p><p>“There are things happening now that we believe only the wisdom of the Commanders could save us from.  As much as I wish it wasn’t true, I believe it is,” Gaia said, honest regret dripping from her words.  </p><p>“You’re talking about Octavia attacking the prisoners with Wonkru?” she asked, her voice shaking, and Gaia nodded.  </p><p>“Madi, Wonkru won’t follow anyone else, and we think there’s a better way to live peacefully, without fighting,” Bellamy said, and Madi’s face contorted into a scowl. </p><p>“Why are you okay with making peace with the people who <i>killed Clarke</i>?” her voice had taken on a venomous tone that seemed to shock Bellamy slightly, but he composed himself quickly and ran his hand down his face, tugging at the hairs of his beard. </p><p>“Trust me, I don’t like it, but we can’t fight them.  We’ll die.  If we don’t fight, we starve, and we still die.  If we all die, if you die, then Clarke’s death was for nothing.  I know she wouldn’t want that.”</p><p>Madi nodded, still angry but feeling a little chastised.  She knew he was right, even if she didn’t like it.  She knew Clarke would have made this choice, too.  <i>Right</i>?  </p><p>“Why aren’t you telling this to Octavia?” she asked, looking between Gaia and Bellamy.</p><p>“Her judgement is clouded with anger.  She has not been in an easy position these past six years,” Gaia said, and Bellamy scoffed but said nothing.  </p><p>“I don’t understand.  Octavia won’t just give up her army,” she said, and Gaia sighed.  </p><p>“These people will follow a true Commander.  You will be safe, protected.  I promise not to let anything happen to you.”</p><p>Madi shook her head again, her thoughts reeling, grasping at any last attempt to protect the secret Clarke had wanted to keep.   </p><p>“I’m not a true <i>natblida</i>.  Clarke gave me her bone marrow—” she stammered out, and Gaia sighed and shook her head softly.  </p><p>“We both know that isn’t true, Madi,” her voice was anything but accusing, and Madi could only sigh in resignation.  </p><p>“Clarke wouldn’t approve of this,” she said, glancing between the two.  Bellamy’s face looked pained, distraught, and he stepped closer to her again.</p><p>“If there was anything I could do, Madi, I would do it.  I hate to put this on you, but if we don’t stop this, your home, your valley, will be destroyed.  My friends are there, some of our people are there, and we can stop this.  <i>You</i> can stop this.”</p><p>Madi felt tears burning her eyes.  She looked between Gaia and Bellamy, both looking pained.  She believed them.  She knew they wouldn’t hurt her, she believed they would protect her and look out for her, but she knew Clarke didn’t want this for her.  It was why she’d concocted the lie to tell everyone about the origins of Madi’s blood.  But Clarke was gone.  Clarke was gone and she was the only one who could stop this, to fight this war or not fight it, she was the only one with the blood of the Commander. </p><p>Her heart screamed no, her fear pulsed angrily through her veins as a warning, but Bellamy’s and Gaia’s words rolled through her mind, and through watery eyes and after one final glance at the little case tucked tightly in Gaia’s hands, Madi squeezed the toy panther one last time and nodded once.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>“<i>Jus-de kom emo Heda laik yu jus</i>,” Gaia said, moving from the back of the room, carrying a bowl filled with something dark.  Madi swallowed and tried to control the pounding in her heart.  She shifted uneasily, a feeling of uncertainty rising within her, acidic like bile.  You don’t have to do this, Clarke’s voice urged her.  She knew this wasn’t the path Clarke had wanted for her, yet she stood, still and straight, as Gaia carried out the ritual.  </p><p>She couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly the best option for everyone, for her people.  Her people, who were all either complete strangers or painful reminders of who she’d lost.  Could she even do this?  Would she be brave enough, strong enough to lead Wonkru?  Madi forced her eyes to remain open, to watch each move Gaia made as carefully as she could.  </p><p>“<i>Teik Heda gyon op</i>,” she said as she came to a stop in front of Madi.  She heard Bellamy shift uncomfortably to her side and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  He was watching Gaia intently, his arms crossed over his chest.  </p><p>“Do not be afraid,” Gaia whispered, and Madi tore her eyes back to her and swallowed, as if begging her stomach to remain calm and cooperate with what the rest of her body was trying to accomplish.</p><p>Gaia dipped her finger in the bowl, and it emerged dark.  The texture wasn’t blood-like, but instead thick and chalky, almost like a wet clay.  She lifted her finger slowly and Madi closed her eyes as the cool mixture touched her forehead, dragged down in a straight line.  Then, Gaia had moved behind her, and Madi couldn’t look anywhere but forward.  <i>It’s not too late</i>, her Clarke voice said, but Madi pushed it aside.  She had to do this.  Clarke wasn’t here to do anything.  It had to be her.  She was, after all, the last true <i>natblida</i>. </p><p>She felt Gaia behind her again, and instinctively knew the moment had arrived.  She took another deep breath and summoned her last ounce of courage and reached behind to sweep her hair to one side.  She felt the hairs rise on the exposed skin of the back of her neck and fought a shudder.  This was it.  She shoved her hand into the pocket of her coat and clutched the little carved panther in her hand, trying to summon her strength from somewhere.  </p><p>“<i>Ascende superius</i>,” Gaia whispered, and Madi swore she could hear the Flame come to life.  It was as though her senses had been heightened to it.  She felt a slight tickle against the back of her neck and forced her shoulders still, but the tickle quickly turned into a burning pain, like flames licking every inch of her skin starting at her neck and spreading out to the tips of every limb.  The pain was blinding, debilitating, and she couldn’t hold in a cry.  </p><p>Her legs buckled beneath her as she succumbed to the pain.  She could feel it everywhere, in every orifice of her body that she hadn’t been aware of until this moment.  Each crevasse of her brain, every vein stung as her blood was pumped viciously through, feeling thicker and heavier than it ever had.  Her vision was gone, replaced by darkness that still felt too bright.  She wasn’t sure if her eyes were shut or if they were open, she wasn’t sure if she was still standing or if she’d collapsed.  All she knew was pain, suffering, and then…</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Madi’s world grew still.  The deafening, shrill sound of the outside world fell quiet.  Her skin didn’t burn, her arms and legs didn’t ache, and instead felt loose and light.  The blackness that had swallowed up her field of vision was lighter, warmer.  As she regained feeling throughout her body, seemingly bone by bone, realization began to sink in.  She had made the choice to take the Flame, yes, but that wasn’t her real choice.   In front of her was still nothingness.  She couldn’t see, feel, or hear anything, but she instinctively knew.  </p><p>She could feel the options materialize, presented by emotions on either side of her mind.  On one side was pain: dark and cold, yet familiar.  The battle she’d agreed to stop could still ensue.  She could see imperfections in their plan, things unaccounted for happening before her eyes.  There was, realistically, no way around a war, as badly as Bellamy and Gaia had hoped they could avoid one.  Seemingly random flashes of potential outcomes made sense to her without her brain thinking it through, without a concrete thought process to back them up.  She just knew. </p><p>She considered quickly, her mind speeding through all the emotions she’d been plagued with quicker and more accurately than she’d ever catalogued her own feelings.  Grief, loss, loneliness, death… She knew that wasn’t how it ultimately had to go.  Another side had presented itself:  calm, yet weary with uncertainty, heavy with challenges unknown yet somehow… brighter.  Another choice that she could make, aside from to go to war or not.  Before she could catalogue and understand the newly presented option, it was gone, along with the quiet nothingness that allowed her such a bare connection to her own thoughts and emotions.</p><p> Scenes and images from the past bombarded all her senses.  People she’d never seen before in her life flashed through her eyes, horrible things happening to them.  She was forced into snippets of their lives, their memories, witnessing their wars.  The same story, with different blood being shed.  Red and black blood alike splattered her visions, screams of agony hounded her ears.  It seemed endless.  Battles after battles through different eyes, each mind pouring the memories into Madi’s.  She was being burned at the stake, the air thick and unbreathable as people in strange suits surrounded her.  Blood.  Violence.  War.  A crowd of people, kneeling and cowering in surrender to Madi as she towered above them, a field of lives lost in the distance.  A woman’s decapitated head on a large bed, red blood staining the furs.  A demand for peace and unity and all the resistance it meant.  </p><p>A meek warrior breaking the news to Madi of the arrival of a new faction, a group that fell from space and landed in Trikru territory.  They were violent, they had weapons.  Madi sent an army after them, and then another.  And then, an angry, fierce-looking Clarke appeared, younger than Madi had ever imagined her before.  Her hair was long, and defiance and strength radiated off her as she stormed into her tent.  She wanted to freeze the memory, watch it replay, but the scenes flew on.  Clarke was distraught, heartbroken, with sadness and betrayal shining through the tears that pooled in her eyes.</p><p>She tried to call out for Clarke, but as soon as she had reappeared, she was gone again, replaced with another version of Clarke Madi had never seen before.  Her hair was thick with dreadlocks and her eyes were sharp, angry, and cold.  She spat in Madi’s face, and Madi tried to shout, tried to scream, anything that could get Clarke’s attention, but as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone again, and Madi was back in the void.  </p><p>She struggled against nothing, trying to force her mind back to those snippets of Clarke.  Was it a sign?  Was Clarke trying to tell her what to do?  No… as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was wrong.  It wasn’t Clarke at all, it was someone who’d seen Clarke.  Who’d hurt Clarke, over war.  The previous commander, Heda Lexa kom Trikru.  </p><p>She tried to inhale, take a deep breath, but it felt like something was pressing on her chest.  She stopped fighting it.  She’d been shown what the Commanders had wanted her to see, and now she had to make her choice, the original choice she’d been presented with.  </p><p>She didn’t need to think it over, she didn’t need to weigh out any options.  She couldn’t put into words how she knew the difference, how she knew she was at a crossroads and must pick a road before she could proceed.  Everything had been laid out before her, and now the Flame was forcing her to pick, to choose her destiny.  It was so simple, but still, she hesitated as Clarke’s face materialized in nothing but her mind’s eye.  A memory, if anything, of better days.  Her own memory.  The Clarke she knew wouldn’t turn her back on those she cared about.  </p><p><i>I’m so sorry, Clarke,</i> she thought to herself, and she knew her decision had been made.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------</p><p>Madi’s eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, her heart and head pounding.  She drew in a gasping breath, opening and closing her eyes wildly as she attempted to refocus her vision.  </p><p>“Gaia?” she croaked, her voice raw, as though she had been the one burning at the stake, screaming in pain an agony.  Her eyes darted around the foreign room.  Her eyes were drawn to the window, soft light pouring gently into the room.  She wasn’t in the bunker, she was somewhere else, above ground.  Not a single house or building in Shallow Valley resembled this.  Her hands flew to her sides and clutched at the plush carpet she was sitting on, on the ground next to a bed she didn’t recognize.  </p><p>“Bellamy?” she tried again, pushing herself up into a standing position.  She clutched at the foot of the bed to regain a semblance of balance against the dizzying sensation that standing up had brought her.  Was this some sort of test?  Her hand flew up to the back of her neck, working its way through her wild hair until she felt a raw wound, open but not bleeding, too new to scab.  The Flame.  </p><p>Her eyes darted around the room, landing on a small wooden bedside table nestled between the made-up bed and the empty, cream colored wall.  Her little panther sat proudly on the empty surface, and using the bed as support, she stumbled over and grabbed the object, balancing the familiar heavy weight in the palm of her hand.  She closed her eyes and drew in a grounding breath.</p><p>Something was off.  Her memories felt meshed together, her own experiences mixed with ones that were not hers but hers to bear.  The pain, the suffering.  She swallowed harshly and sprinted towards the only closed door in the small room she found herself in.  She peeled it open and darted out into a hallway with several other doors, all ajar.  She ran to the first one and peeked in, her gaze darting first to each corner of the room.  It was set up similarly to how the first room had been, only with the addition of a few brightly colored stuffed toys on the bed, but still bare; a strange mix between the sterility of the bunker and the decorative warmth and charm of the home she and Clarke had made for themselves in Shallow Valley.</p><p>She pulled her head out of the doorway and moved on to the next, finding the same scenario.  Empty room with a single bed, minimal decorations that differed slightly from the previous two rooms.  The other three rooms down the long hallway were no different, and by the time she reached the last room, her heart was pounding and an eerie feeling was creeping up in her chest.  What had she done?</p><p>“Madi, what are you doing in Noah’s room?” a familiar voice scolded, and her head snapped back so quickly she felt another dizzying wave rush over her.  Her hand flew instinctively to her waist where she always carried her dagger in a holster that had been a gift from Clarke, but her hand was met with a soft fabric instead of the warn, smooth leather and the heavy handle of the hilt.  </p><p>Niylah ascended the final step of the long staircase that laid at the end of the hallway, and Madi’s mouth dropped open at the sight of her.  She was dressed peculiarly, in clothing she only recognized briefly from a memory that was not hers: a warm white sweater with denim pants, in better repair than she’d ever seen clothes.  Gone was the frumpy shawl and overused apron Niylah had donned ever since she met her a week prior, as well as the tired, malnourished bags that rested beneath her eyes. </p><p>“Niylah,” she breathed in disbelief, shaking her head.  “Where is everybody?” she asked.  She could feel her heart beating up to her throat, pulsating wildly against that spot on her neck.  Pressure built up to her head as her fear rose, and she backed up as Niylah approached her, her back hitting the hard wall of the doorframe behind her.  </p><p>“Everyone is downstairs getting ready for lunch.  I came to see if you felt up to eating,” Niylah said in a stern, almost motherly way.  Why were they all in this house?  She numbly shook her head, food being the last thing on her mind.  Her fingers drew quickly to the back of her neck and ran down the rough, jagged skin one more time, as though the slight pinch of pain could convince her that this was actually happening and not an extension of the warped, Flame induced dream she’d been subjected to just <i>minutes</i> prior.  </p><p>“What’s going on?” she asked as Niylah looked at her oddly, her face contorting into a worried sort of confusion, and she drew her hand up to Madi’s face, only grazing her forehead before Madi backed away again, sidestepping the doorframe and taking another step into the room belonging to someone called Noah.  </p><p>“Do you feel all right, sweetheart?” Niylah asked quietly, and Madi shook her head almost aggressively.  No, she absolutely did not feel all right.  </p><p>“Do you think you need to go to the doctor?” Niylah prodded, and Madi’s head shook in the negative even harder.  She hadn’t seen Jackson since he had turned off the machines keeping Clarke alive, and she wasn’t sure she could handle an interaction with him so soon.  Niylah should know that.  She was there.  </p><p>“Where’s Bellamy?” she demanded, and Niylah’s frow deepened.  </p><p>“Bellamy?” she repeated, and Madi felt her mouth run dry.  <i>Oh, what had she done</i>?</p><p>“Gaia?” she tried again, and for a split second, Niylah’s face twisted into a look of utter discomfiture, before her features relaxed and a wave of understanding washed over her entire posture.  Her tense shoulders relaxed and, in her eyes, shone the pity that Madi had been starting to grow accustomed to.  </p><p>“Honey, I know this is so hard.  Would you like to go talk with Luna?”</p><p>Madi could only gape at Niylah.  The terms of endearment were odd, but at the mention of a person called Luna, a strange familiarity stirred inside her.  But why?  She’d never met a Luna before in her life, and she was certain Clarke had never mentioned a Luna.</p><p>
“I need to talk with Gaia,” she said.  Something had gone wrong, something had gone terribly wrong, and she kept rolling back to the moment when she’d known her choice had been cemented.  There had to be some way to reverse it, to say she’d rather go and take control of Wonkru.</p><p>“Is Gaia someone close to you?” Niylah asked gently, and Madi opened and closed her mouth several times.  Niylah and Gaia knew each other better than Madi knew either of them!</p><p>“You know who Gaia is,” she said insistently, shaking her head in disbelief.  “Where the hell are we, Niylah?”</p><p>Niylah looked a little taken aback by the shift in Madi’s attitude, but her composure remained just as compassionate.</p><p>“Do you remember when we talked about this?  You’re staying with Luna and I while Mrs. Green gets in contact with your grandparents,” Niylah spoke steadily, and Madi shook her head wildly.  She didn’t have any grandparents, not anymore.  They’d died in <i>Praimfaya</i>.  She’d watched Clarke carry their bodies to the fire, watched the smoke carry away the ones she loved for the first time, but not the last.  </p><p>“Not possible,” she whispered, and Niylah gave her the same sad smile that she’d given when Clarke had been hurt, but still alive, when she had given her the toy panther.  She clutched the familiar object as tightly as she could, willing herself to wake up and face the reality she’d tried to run from.  </p><p>“Come on, I have a secret hot chocolate recipe that makes tough moments a little bit easier to get through,” Niylah spoke sweetly, but Madi could only gape at her as she gestured for Madi to join her down the stairs she’d just come up.  She stepped cautiously out of the person called Noah’s room, her eyes trailing down the long, handsome staircase as it came into her vision.  Niylah seemed to be pleased enough with the wordless response and began to descend, Madi stumbling as coherently as she could behind her as her eyes darted around the area, taking in the details.  </p><p>The staircase ended at the bottom in a large, airy foyer.  Dark, polished wooden floors stretched across the room, partially obscured by a large, well-worn rug with an intricate design that reminded Madi of something Clarke would doodle absently when she wasn’t focusing on anything other than her own thoughts.  </p><p><i>Clarke</i>, guilt swept through her as she thought of Clarke, her mind flashing with all the memories of Clarke from before she’d met her, of the disappointment in her eyes as she stood in front of the entrance to Mount Weather.  Madi couldn’t help but feel like that disappointment was directed at her.  She’d been a coward; she’d run away instead of helping Clarke’s friends get their home back.  </p><p>Niylah glanced back at her as she reached the bottom, and Madi clutched her panther tighter in her palms and avoided the gaze of the delusional woman. <i> What the hell had she done</i>?</p><p>Her eyes were drawn to a large, wooden door with a huge pane of frosted glass.  A distorted light shone through from the exterior, and Madi fought to tear her eyes away from it as Niylah spoke.</p><p>“You can wait out here if you don’t feel like seeing anyone,” she said gently, and Madi nodded, suddenly noticing the foreign sound of what had to be at least a dozen children through the closed doorway to her right.  Niylah’s hand was on the doorknob as she looked over at Madi.  “I’ll be back in a jiff and then you and I can go sit with Luna while the others have lunch.”</p><p>Madi nodded her consent as Niylah disappeared through the door, the noises of shrill shrieks and happy laughter swam unfiltered through the opening, becoming muffled again as the door shut behind her.  Her feet itched to follow Niylah through the door.  She’d spent countless hours dreaming of having other children to play with on some of the longer, boring summer days she’d spent lazing around with Clarke after all their chores had been completed.  She would ask Clarke about the other children, about the children in the bunker and drilled on if they’d like her or not.  Clarke had assured her she would be loved.</p><p>During her time in the bunker, she hadn’t even tried to connect with the other children.  Her heart had been too heavy, too grieved to even think about playing or running, and the children in the bunker hadn’t been as she expected.  They’d been warrior children, practicing swordplay and fighting techniques.  In any other circumstances, Madi would have loved the opportunity to train under Octavia with all the other children.</p><p>She swallowed harshly and forced away the childish desire to join in the laughter that bubbled from the other side of the door.  Her guilty heart prevented her from following Niylah through the door, even if just to look curiously at what the other children were like.  Instead, Madi’s head snapped back to the tall wooden door.  </p><p>Something in the back of her mind urged her forward.  It wasn’t Clarke’s bossy voice, or even her soft one.  It wasn’t Madi’s conscience telling her to fix her mistakes, it was an inexplicable knowing feeling that urged through her and propelled her legs, that swung her arm out to twist the proud gold handle and push the door open.  She followed the feeling, and she ran.</p><p>If she’d been shocked at the living conditions in the bunker, she was completely blown away by the world that met her the moment her bare feet touched the pavement outside.  The world was loud and busy, filled with rover-like machines that rolled up and down a paved road, turning and racing and navigating around each other.  Horns honked and the vehicles squeaked and started and stopped and people crossed the roads when the cars finally stopped, dressed similarly to Niylah in clothes that seemed flimsy and strange.  Nobody had leather, nobody had armor, or weapons.  Hair was short and neatly managed, and everyone seemed too busy to notice the young girl suddenly on the road dressed in soft navy blue pants and a tight-fitting white cotton T shirt with no shoes and no idea what was going on.</p><p>She didn’t have time to gawk or wonder.  A sense of urgency had filled her mind and she succumbed to it, trusting her newfound intuition as she took off at a run down the street.  She ignored the jabs of rocks stinging her cold feet as they slapped against the cement.  Her eyes darted around, taking in tall metal poles and brightly colored signs that seemed to litter the landscape, shadowed by tall buildings that reminded her vaguely of stories Clarke had told her of Polis before <i>Praimfaya</i>.  </p><p>As she instinctively turned a corner several minutes into running away from the building she hadn’t even looked at upon exiting, something familiar came into view.  She was in Polis.  The Polis tower stood proudly, taller than any other of the surrounding buildings.  It gleamed in the sunlight and she took in the familiar shape, looking almost exactly like Clarke’s drawing of the structure had, only newer, with less holes and ragged edges.  A sense of certainty crawled into her and gave her the energy to push forward, to keep running towards the tower.  </p><p>She dodged honking vehicles and crabby strangers as she crossed roads and did everything she could to navigate through the strange terrain to the tower.  She had no sense of time as to how long she had been running, the only indicator being the burning in her chest and the sharp pain in her side, but she finally reached the entrance.  People she didn’t recognize were passing in and out of the tower, each person looking busy and involved in whatever they were doing, too busy to notice the little girl pushing her way through the people as she made her way towards the entrance.  </p><p>Just as she had a clear view of the pristine glass doors that had fallen shut after a tall man in a neat-looking outfit had entered, they swung open again and her feet skidded to a halt on the rocky cement.  A tall, pale woman with sporadic gray streaks running through her long dark hair, pulled tightly back into a ponytail, dressed in a long white coat, emerged, looking as panicked and anticipatory as Madi felt.  She knew that person, and the moment their eyes locked together, the woman hurried out of the building, her high heeled shoes clicking against the cement as she ran towards Madi.</p><p>“I know you,” Madi breathed, stunned into stillness as the woman reached her, crouching down to be at eye level, studying every inch of her face, of her body.  Madi’s heart pounded wildly as the woman’s lips stretched out into a grin. </p><p>“I have been waiting so long for you,” the woman said.  Her voice was gentile and excited, but Madi could only gape.  Her heart hammered in her chest, the sense of urgency slipping away.  The instinctive urge to run had dissipated, and a sense of calm washed over her.  She’d reached her destination.  The woman’s eyes continued to map her face, but Madi couldn’t tear hers from the sharp, intelligent brown eyes that she recognized without realizing, that she knew intimately without having ever met the woman before.</p><p>“Becca Pramheda,” she spoke quietly, and Becca’s eyes teared up, the grin never leaving her lips as she stood to full height and held out her hand to Madi.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Where Everything Slipped</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You think she’ll be there next time we go out?” Clarke asked Lexa as they sat in her bedroom folding the load of laundry Lexa had done earlier.  After a week with Lexa, Clarke was starting to see quirks of hers that she would never have guessed the Commander of the Twelve Clans to possess.  Lexa did laundry for the entire household, and since that now included Clarke, she’d bumped her routine up to twice a week.  She was meticulous about separating the colors and pulling the clothes out of the dryer while they were still warm.  Part of Clarke ached to know why, but she tucked it away in the part of her heart still desperately holding on to this situation being temporary.  </p>
<p>“Ontari only makes an appearance during the moves when something goes wrong,” Lexa said, her eyes unmoving from the shirt she folded with quick, precise movements.  She set it carefully on the pile of shirts and moved on to the next garment. </p>
<p>“Then let’s make something go wrong.  We’ll be ready for her,” Clarke said, handing Lexa the pants she’d folded only for Lexa to refold them and sort them into the appropriate pile.  She fought an eye roll and decided to sift around the basket to search out the socks.  She had accompanied Lexa on three stakeout sessions in the past week and all they’d done was watch and follow, and Clarke felt her patience wearing thin.  Each time she voiced her concerns with them wasting time, Lexa only provided the same infuriating, <i>“It takes as long as it takes,”</i> that she’d first told her all those years ago.  </p>
<p>“She’s more careful now.  I’ve seen her twice since our encounter and she was not alone either time,” Lexa said, and Clarke frowned.  Lexa had given her what had to be a severely recapped version on the run-in she’d had with Ontari a year prior and Clarke had gritted her teeth and shared a brief summary of what Ontari had done to all the <i>natblidas</i> after Lexa’s death, and she said a silent prayer of thanks to Madi’s parents, who had kept her hidden from the <i>fleimkepa</i> scouts.  She couldn’t have been older than five at the time, and Clarke had been forced to drop the conversation the moment her mind went on that train of thought or else she would have lost the contents of her stomach.  </p>
<p>Lexa had been furious at the news.  Her jaw had clenched so tightly Clarke was worried she’d break a tooth, and her knuckles were drawn so tightly that they were white.  She knew Lexa had loved Aden, she’d loved all the <i>natblidas</i>, and Clarke couldn’t imagine how she felt upon finding out about their demise not twenty-four hours after she’d been gone.  Clarke had hoped it would spur something on in Lexa, create a sense of urgency to draw Nia and Ontari’s reign to an end, but she was adamant about sticking to her established routine.  Still, Clarke couldn’t help herself when it came to pushing the situation along. </p>
<p>“You’re not alone now, either,” Clarke pointed out, scooting to sit on the bed next to the laundry basket, having run out of socks to fold.  “And you could be <i>really</i> not alone if we got Anya in on this.”</p>
<p>“No,” Lexa said firmly, and Clarke sighed.  She understood, she really did, but she’d only been at this a week and she was already exhausted and impatient with the meticulous process of Lexa dragging through each piece of evidence with a fine-tooth comb.  Lexa was wise and well-planned; she always had been, in her responses and political moves, but Clarke expected something else was holding her back, something else keeping her weary and on her toes, and she had a suspicion that it was something with a stronger pull on Lexa than Anya’s career. </p>
<p>Clarke, however, felt the recklessness burning hot on her skin with every moment she spent sitting still too long.  She didn’t have anything to lose by going in with a bang, except, of course, everything Lexa had been working to maintain.  No matter how badly she wanted to storm Polis and end this situation quicker than she’d learned about it, she couldn’t do that to Lexa.  Lexa, who had been nothing but patient with her, who held her close in the early morning hours when she felt especially terrible for abandoning Madi to face a dark world all by herself, didn’t deserve to have this life’s work destroyed by an angry, impatient Clarke.  </p>
<p>“Fine,” Clarke agreed with a bit more attitude than necessary, and as Lexa pulled the last pair of jeans to be folded out of the basket, she grabbed the plastic bin and tugged it off the bed, itching to move, even if it was just to deposit the empty basket back in the laundry room.  </p>
<p>She pushed the basket inside the small closet of a room and pulled the door shut, and as she turned to head back to Lexa’s room, Anya’s bedroom door few open, and Anya emerged, hurriedly pulling on a dark blazer over her typical work attire.  </p>
<p>Just as Lexa had predicted, Anya had grumbled and groaned, but ultimately hadn’t tried to kick Clarke out of their apartment again.  It was evident that somewhere <i>very deep</i> underneath Anya’s rough exterior, she had a giant soft spot for Lexa, and Clarke had seen Lexa exploit it at least three other times just since she’d been staying with them.  Anya would put up a fight, snarking and snapping all while placing an order for Lexa’s favorite pizza, and Lexa would catch Clarke completely off guard by winking at her when Anya’s back was turned.  She was happy for Lexa, she truly was.  Despite her obsession with tracing and tracking down an elusive criminal with a successful business and place in society, Lexa seemed almost freed in the quiet times where nothing was going on.  Relative peace looked good on her. </p>
<p>Clarke couldn’t allow herself that luxury.  Not yet and possibly not ever.  The guilt and desperation still clawed at her in every one of the quiet moments where Lexa was peacefully reading the newspaper and sipping her coffee.  She wanted to reach across the table and throttle her sometimes for seeming so at ease while Clarke’s mind was cataclysmic.  She knew it wasn’t Lexa’s fault, but she felt so much unspent energy clawing at every nerve ending that the idea would pop into her head, particularly after long nights spent unsuccessfully stalking Nia’s grunts.  She had formulated an idea in her mind where maybe, just <i>maybe</i>, if Lexa was right and they caught Nia, found her guilty and liberated this world from her clutches, she could find her way back home.  It was the best, and truthfully, the only option she had right now, so she clung to it.</p>
<p>“What’re you looking at?” Anya snarked, and Clarke quickly blinked away the blank stare she hadn’t realized had rested on Anya.  Even in some twisted, parallel universe, she and Anya struggled to get along.  </p>
<p>“Going somewhere, Anya?” Lexa appeared in the doorway of her own bedroom, directly across from Anya’s, just as Clarke opened her mouth.  Anya’s scowl moved from Clarke to Lexa as she adjusted the lapels on her coat. </p>
<p>“Missing kid,” she said sharply.  “Don’t know when I’ll be back.  Try not to burn the place down.”</p>
<p>Anya’s gaze landed on Clarke at her last statement, and she instinctively squinted her eyes at Anya, but any further opportunity for vexing was lost as Anya turned quickly on her heel and disappeared as she turned the corner at the end of the hallway.  Clarke looked over to Lexa who was thoughtfully staring after Anya.</p>
<p>“What is it?” she asked, something in Lexa’s gaze triggering an increase in her heartrate.  Lexa did not move her eyes from the end of the hallway, and for a moment, Clarke saw in her profile the Lexa she remembered, The Commander.</p>
<p>“You might have been on to something, Clarke,” she said, her tongue rolling around Clarke’s name like it could have been a traditional <i>Trigedasleng</i> name.  </p>
<p>“What?” Clarke pressed, feeling unimpressed and impatient with Lexa’s dramatic pause.  </p>
<p>“Let me find some bags.  We will pack for a few nights,” Lexa said, and without further explanation, she turned back into her bedroom and headed for the closed closet door, Clarke on her heels.</p>
<p>“How is staying out all night going to help us?” </p>
<p>“We can try to find Ontari and watch her.  Her leads are always good but can take days to pan out,” Lexa’s voice drowned into the depths of her closet, and Clarke drew in a slow, controlled breath to combat the thought of spending <i>nights</i> tailing people.  </p>
<p>She could only watch as Lexa dug into the depths of the closet that she’d only seen opened a handful of times.  She emerged with two backpacks, both rough and looking more like they had belonged to grounders than anything else in this apartment did, and Lexa tossed one to Clarke.  She caught it, but her eyes were glued to the practiced, almost military movements Lexa carried out as she knelt at the side of her bed and dragged out a large metal lockbox.</p>
<p>Clarke’s mouth dropped open as Lexa sped through the dial of a padlock and quickly popped the lid open.  Guns, ammunition, and even a bow and arrow were stashed inside the metal container and Lexa pulled out the handguns one at a time, briefly inspecting each one before laying them on her bed. </p>
<p>“Guns?” Clarke breathed, dropping to her knees beside Lexa.  There were four pistols, each different than anything Clarke had used before, and countless magazines, each filled with bullets.  “Lexa, you’ve had guns this whole time?”</p>
<p>“If I recall, this is your weapon of choice,” Lexa’s tone was almost excited, and Clarke could only gape as she reached out and picked one up.  She was almost taken aback at the familiar sensation that washed over her the moment the heavy weight rested in her palm.  It hadn’t been long at all since she’d used one, and when it had just been her and Madi, she’d gone weeks at a time without picking one up, but she hadn’t realized how much she missed the comfort of being armed in a world where the unexpected always had to be expected.  </p>
<p>“Oh, we can really make something go wrong now,” Clarke said, turning the weapon over in her hand to examine the components.  She reached across Lexa and grabbed a magazine, but Lexa’s hand caught her wrist the moment she grasped it.</p>
<p>“You have to be careful, Clarke,” she said seriously, and her eyes felt strained as she fought to keep them trained on Lexa’s instead of rolling into the back of her skull.  </p>
<p>“Lexa, I know how to use a gun.”</p>
<p>“Be mindful of who will hear before you shoot.  It will not end well if we get caught.”</p>
<p>Clarke fought back an irritability-fueled smart remark and just nodded as Lexa released the light grasp on her wrist, and she popped the magazine into the weapon and pulled back the slide, operating on pure muscle memory as the first bullet clicked into the chamber.  </p>
<p>“I take it Anya doesn’t know about these,” she said, gesturing to the lockbox, and Lexa shook her head.  </p>
<p>“Anya has a strange relationship with weapons.  She carries one for work but has strong opinions about others carrying them.  There is a lot of political involvement with arms in this world.”</p>
<p>“It seems like there’s a lot of political involvement with a lot of things,” Clarke grumbled, though she couldn’t bring herself to judge.  Half of her struggles on the ground had been about political moves and power struggles, and it was strange to not be involved in the center of what was going on.  The uneasiness of going into this situation blind was at the forefront of her mind; she never liked not knowing the full picture, and she knew she likely had a sliver of the information involved in this entire situation Lexa had been absorbed in.</p>
<p>“Case in point, our target hidden in plain sight,” Lexa agreed, shutting the empty box and pushing it back underneath the bed.  “We need clothes.”</p>
<p>“Are we really going to be changing our clothes that often while we’re chasing down Ontari?”</p>
<p>“We can’t chase her down, Clarke,” Lexa sighed, and Clarke felt a rumble of frustration bubbling out of the carefully constructed prison Clarke had trapped it in.  </p>
<p>“Then why do we have guns?”</p>
<p>“Intimidation purposes.  We can get closer if we scare the lower levels of the ring.”</p>
<p>“I thought we were trying to draw Ontari out.”</p>
<p>“<i>If</i> we somehow get that opportunity, we will be glad we packed for it.  Here,” Lexa pushed a stack of freshly folded clothes into Clarke’s arms, her own already packed neatly inside her backpack.  Clarke grit her teeth together and shoved the fabric in, using it more as padding for the rest of the guns and ammunition than anything else.  </p>
<p>Lexa left the room and a few moments later, she could hear Lexa in the kitchen, opening and shutting cabinets and the refrigerator.  She growled lowly in an attempt to ease some of the pent-up frustrated tension in her soul.  </p>
<p>“If my ass,” she mumbled to herself as she reached over to Lexa’s newspaper holder of a desk and snatched up the keepsake items she’d been dragging along with her ever since she found them.  She shoved the credit card and the key to Finn’s apartment in the smaller front pocket and was carefully sliding the picture of her father into the flat pocket lining the back wall of the larger compartment when Lexa returned, arms laden with bottles of water and packaged food items.  </p>
<p>“This should be enough for now.  I have some cash, we can stop and get something if we need to,” Lexa explained as she dumped the items into her backpack and slid the zipper shut.  Clarke nodded and followed suit with her own bag. </p>
<p>“Right.  Guns, food, water, clothes.  We’re more prepared for this than I’ve been for anything,” Clarke said, her attempt at humor falling flat to her own ears, though Lexa did crack a small smile and reach out to give her forearm a gentile, affectionate squeeze.  </p>
<p>“I could not have picked a better ally to fight alongside.”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>“Let’s go over the plan again?” Clarke asked as the public bus roared to life for what had to be the twentieth time on their way to Polis.  Lexa, who appeared just as calm on the bus ride as she had in her apartment, looked away from the window and met Clarke’s eyes. </p>
<p>“We watch, observe the patterns.  By the third night we will know if we can make a move or not,” she recited in the same exact way she’d said it the first time Clarke had asked.  Clarke wasn’t entirely on board with the hurry up and wait philosophy that Lexa seemed to be adopting for this excursion.  </p>
<p>“There’s got to be a better way to get an inside look.  Let’s go to one of the houses and look around,” Clarke said, and Lexa raised an eyebrow at her. </p>
<p>“That sounds like a terrible idea.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“We could be walking into a minefield or we could be wasting an entire day.  I would rather follow a promising lead and gather more intel—”</p>
<p>“Lexa, you’ve been at this for years and are still no closer to—”</p>
<p>“Quiet,” Lexa snapped, cutting her off as an older man moved slowly down the narrow aisle, stopping directly by Clarke to grab onto the handrail above her head.  She bit back a groan and scooted a little closer to Lexa despite the cramped quarters made smaller by the large, heavy backpacks each of them held on their laps.  The man reeked with a stench Clarke was entirely unfamiliar with, alcohol mixed with something else that seemed to emanate from his skin, and she had to breathe through her mouth to keep her stomach from churning. </p>
<p>Three stops later, they were thankfully pushing their way with as much distance as they could past the man to exit the bus, Clarke taking a deep breath as soon as they were out in the fresh air.  The air wasn’t as fresh as she was used to, especially with the plume of exhaust from the bus as it groaned and creaked behind them before continuing its journey, but it was better than what she had been smelling on the bus.  She turned to Lexa, who was shrugging her backpack on over her shoulder. </p>
<p>“I really think we could find something in one of the houses.  The most recent one.  Maybe they left something behind,” she said, grunting as she pulled on her own backpack.  It was heavy from the weight of all the ammunition and weapons, and part of her wished she’d dispensed some into Lexa’s bag before they left.  </p>
<p>“The houses are bare.  They are passthroughs, nothing more,” Lexa said as she shook her head, starting on down the sidewalk and leaving Clarke no choice but to follow.  The streets were a little more crowded today than they were the other times Clarke had been to Polis, and at one point she had to break out into a light jog and grab the back of Lexa’s backpack in order to keep from being separated in the throng of people moving about their days.  </p>
<p>“Let’s go in the tower, then,” she said the moment they broke free from a crowd and she had enough room to move up alongside Lexa.</p>
<p>“No.  I told you, Ontari knows my face.  Besides, it has an excellent security system.”</p>
<p>“How do you know?  Have you tried it?”</p>
<p>Lexa gave a stiff nod and Clarke let out a low sigh.  She desperately wanted to provide a new idea, an alternative to Lexa’s stakeout that could give them a greater chance at making something happen than sitting on their asses and watching people get kidnapped, but each idea presented was shot down by Lexa just as quickly.  </p>
<p>They walked for a few blocks before the gleaming Polis Tower, Polaris, came into sight, and Clarke felt her hope crush down into her chest just as it did the first time she saw it.  Everything they were looking for had to be <i>right there</i>, yet they were no closer to the goal than they had been in Lexa and Anya’s apartment.  </p>
<p>“And now we wait?” Clarke asked as Lexa led them to a little alley across the street, leaning casually up against the brick wall as though it was a normal occurrence for her.  It probably was.  Lexa gave her a nod, her sharp green-gray eyes trained across the street, and Clarke leaned against the opposite wall and followed her gaze.  The repair work from the break in the week prior was immaculately done, as though nothing had ever happened.  The glass was repaired, the blast marks either scrubbed clean or the pieces replaced entirely.  It looked brand new, a far cry from the crumpled mess it had been the last time she saw it. </p>
<p>They’d waited for what had to be hours.  Clarke couldn’t be sure, each time she glanced at her father’s broken watch, the hands remained still and the glass remained cracked, but the sun had sank considerably lower in the sky and the passersby crossing in front of their alley had thinned considerably.  She and Lexa had scooted back to be further in the shadows, but Lexa remained as still and focused as she had been when they first began watching.  </p>
<p>“Lexa,” she sighed finally, pushing herself into a standing position.  She winced at the numbness sprouting from her tailbone and rubbed her lower back as Lexa let out a ‘hmm’ of acknowledgement.  “We’re wasting time.  This is getting us no—”</p>
<p>“Quiet, look!” Lexa interrupted suddenly, and she grabbed Clarke’s shoulder roughly and yanked them both down into a crouching position.  Clarke’s stiff limbs protested and nearly gave out beneath her, but as she realigned her lower center of gravity, she saw a familiar dark head of hair exiting the tower, wearing a skin-tight dark green dress and a long black trench coat, carrying a smart-looking dark leather case as she clicked along the pavement in a pair of sensible low heels. </p>
<p>They both watched with bated breath as Ontari impatiently pumped a button on a tall metal pole.  </p>
<p>“She’s crossing.  We need to move,” Lexa breathed, and she scooped up her backpack and set off at a run deeper into an alley.  Clarke snatched her own bag and inwardly groaned at the weight she’d forgotten about lugging around the city and set off after her, catching up just in time to see her turn sharply and hop over a bag of garbage leaning against a shadowed building.  </p>
<p>Ahead Clarke could see the main road, and she watched as Lexa stuck her head out of the alley and looked toward the tower for what had to be at least a minute, before ducking back in and setting off at a run in yet another direction.</p>
<p>“I thought we needed to watch her,” Clarke hissed as she finally caught up with Lexa.  Lexa was holding open a torn section of a chain-link fence, wordlessly urging Clarke inside.  She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled through the tight opening, but her backpack snagged against the jagged edges of the metal and she was jerked unexpectedly back.</p>
<p>“I’m caught,” Clarke breathed, and she heard Lexa grunt and rustle with her bag and the fence for a moment before the pressure on her shoulders was relieved.  </p>
<p>“Go!” Lexa hurried, and Clarke crawled as quickly as she could through the opening.  She scrambled to her feet and turned as Lexa was shrugging off her backpack and shoving it through the hole, and Clarke pushed up the sleeve of her jacket and made her hand as small as she could to stick it through the gaps in the chain-link.  It was an awkward angle, but she managed to grasp the loose piece of fence long enough for Lexa to slide through like she’d done this a thousand times before.  She probably had.  </p>
<p>Clarke let go of the fence and tugged her hand back through as Lexa shimmied back through the straps of her backpack.</p>
<p>“This way,” she said, and they were off again.  They took several turns through evening-shadowed alleyways before Lexa finally led them out to the main road, and Clarke started to recognize the path.  She’d only taken it once before, at a much earlier time of day, but she saw the familiar parking garage up ahead.  Lexa had slowed to a brisk walk once they were out on the main sidewalk and Clarke glanced behind them.  Why did it feel like they were running from Ontari?</p>
<p>“We lost her, Lexa, what the hell?” Clarke spat as she jogged a little to catch up to Lexa.  Lexa’s gaze remained steadfast ahead.</p>
<p>“We need to get to the exit of the garage and watch where she’s headed.”</p>
<p>“How do you expect us to keep up with a car?” Clarke growled, and Lexa shook her head.  </p>
<p>“We just need to see where she turns.  There is a lot of traffic.  Our chances are good.”</p>
<p>“I have a better idea,” Clarke said, and she grabbed Lexa’s bony shoulder as they were passing the pedestrian entrance to the garage and jerked her unceremoniously inside.  </p>
<p>“Stick to the plan, Clarke,” Lexa growled at her, and Clarke chose to ignore the request and ran deeper into the garage, crouching behind a large car and all but throwing her heavy pack off her shoulders.  She heard Lexa’s footsteps approaching as she unzipped the bag and rummaged around until she found the gun she’d loaded.  She quickly popped a magazine into another and passed it wordlessly to Lexa and rezipped the bag, standing up and tucking the gun swiftly into the front of her pants.  </p>
<p>“What are you doing?” Lexa hissed; her eyes were lit up with fury even in the dark of the garage.  For a moment Clarke was worried Lexa was going to shoot her as she fumbled with the straps of the backpack again, considerably lighter than it had been all day.    </p>
<p>“You said it yourself: guns are a great intimidation tool,” she said, maneuvering around the vehicle until she had a clear visual of the entrance they’d just walked through.  </p>
<p>“For the less-experienced.  I guarantee Ontari is armed.”</p>
<p>“I guarantee I can handle it,” she retorted, keeping her eyes glued to the shadowy door.  A few people entered the garage as they watched, each person dressed professionally and making a beeline straight for their vehicle.  Clarke’s heartrate sped up and she began to worry about dealing with witnesses, but her thoughts were forced short as their target sauntered through the door, now chatting animatedly on her phone.  </p>
<p>She could feel Lexa’s eyes burning a hole through her head, but she kept her focus on Ontari, watching as she headed toward a car parked, thankfully, farther away from the entrance than Clarke could have dreamed for her impromptu plan.  </p>
<p>She waited until Ontari’s back was fully to them before she stood steadily from behind her cover and weaved through the parked cars surrounding.  Only a faint rustle signaled Lexa’s cooperation as they crept through the garage.  From behind her she could hear another voice enter the garage, and Clarke swallowed against the nervousness that had suddenly built up in her throat.  Nervousness for Lexa, who had a life and a friend who loved her, who had been so careful to avoid exploitations such as this.</p>
<p>She paced her movements, keeping as quiet as she could as the pair approached Ontari.  She glanced back once to see if the newcomers were watching, but the man in question had already made his way to his own vehicle and hopped inside.  Her attention darted back to Ontari’s form as she approached a sleek red car and leaned forward just enough to rest the case she was carrying on the ground of the garage.  She watched the slim hand that slipped into one of the deep pockets on her coat and pulled out a key ring.  Clarke quickened her pace slightly, her hand moving to the lower front of her abdomen and pushing her shirt up just enough to grip the handle of her gun.  </p>
<p>“I know.  You have to admit he’s hot though,” Ontari’s voice and laughter rang out and echoed through the garage.  “Whatever, more for me.  Yeah, I’ll talk to you later, bitch.” </p>
<p>Ontari ended the call with one hand while her other felt around the key chain.  A quick succession of beeps echoed from the vehicle, the lights flashing twice, and Clarke could have peed herself with how startled she was, but they were so close.  </p>
<p>As Ontari shoved her phone into the deep-pocketed coat and leaned across her body to pick up the case, Clarke made her move.  Three larger than normal steps and she was pressed up against Ontari, pushing the barrel of the gun into the small of the woman’s back.  Ontari froze, and Clarke’s heart felt like it was about to burst through her chest. </p>
<p>“Don’t move,” she growled lowly into the woman’s ear, her body nearly flush with Ontari’s.  Ontari twisted her head so Clarke’s nose was inches away from her cheek, and Clarke pressed the gun harder.<br/>
“Lexa, her phone.”</p>
<p>She shot a side-eyed look towards Lexa as the other woman moved nimbly to Ontari’s side and reached into her pocket and pulled out the phone, jumping back as Ontari spat towards her.<br/>
“Oh God, it’s <i>you</i>.” </p>
<p>“Let’s play nice.  Open the car,” Clarke said through gritted teeth as she jabbed the gun once more against Ontari’s spine.</p>
<p>“It’s been a while. I thought you’d given up, <i>Lexa</i>,” Ontari sneered.  </p>
<p>“Open the car,” Clarke spat, ignoring Ontari’s comment.  “Lexa, get in the back.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been meaning to send you a bill to cover my surgeries,” Ontari continued to ignore Clarke in favor of heckling Lexa as the latter darted to the other side of the car and slipped in the back seat.  Clarke pushed the gun harder into Ontari’s back.  </p>
<p>“I said open the car.  Now,” Clarke could feel her temper rising as Ontari let out a cackle and refused to budge.  Lexa pushed the other back door open from inside the car and gestured wordlessly, anger and frustration plain on her face.  </p>
<p>“Hurry,” she urged at Clarke, and Clarke grabbed a fistful of Ontari’s hair and jerked her neck back.  The woman squealed, and she dragged her the best she could and pushed her through the open door.  Lexa grunted as she helped maneuver the uncooperative body into the car, and Clarke shut the door the moment Ontari’s foot cleared the bottom bumper.  </p>
<p>Without giving herself time to think about how stupid of an idea this was actually turning out to be, Clarke flung the driver’s side door open and slid in, pushing her backpack awkwardly into the passenger seat, still brandishing her gun.  She twisted around to see Lexa with her own gun pressed into Ontari’s side, her arm wrapped around Ontari’s neck to cup her mouth and hold her in place.  </p>
<p>“Drive, Clarke,” Lexa spat, and Clarke nodded dumbly and turned forward, gripping the wheel.  She could feel her heart pounding recklessly against every pulse point in her body as she started to fumble around the controls and tap the pedals.  Nothing happened. </p>
<p>“Keys!” she cried, twisting her neck back to look at Lexa.  “I need keys!”</p>
<p>Lexa scowled at her and rested her gun on the seat beside her, and Ontari began to fidget and twist, her arm swinging out and clocking Lexa right in the side of the face.  Clarke gasped and Lexa groaned loudly as black blood started dripping from the fresh cut on the side of her face, and Clarke’s eyes flew to the key sticking out of Ontari’s knuckles as she swung again, hitting Lexa in the same spot.</p>
<p>
She snatched her gun out of the cup holder and pointed it at Ontari, turning fully in the seat and reaching back with her right hand as she attempted to grab Ontari’s still flailing fist.  Lexa, thankfully, caught on and grasped Ontari’s wrist in a hold tight enough to leave bruises, and Clarke had to dig her nails into the skin on Ontari’s palm to get her fingers to pry far enough apart that she could break the keys free.  </p>
<p>She turned back forward and dumped the gun into the passenger seat, fumbling with shaky hands to push the largest key into the ignition.  She twisted it far too roughly and the engine roared to life, spluttering and grinding and eventually settling into a quiet, mellow hum.  Lexa let out a grunt of pain from the back seat and she glanced up into the rear-view mirror to see Ontari’s teeth clamping firmly down on Lexa’s fingers.  </p>
<p>“Just drive,” Lexa said, her voice surprisingly even, and Clarke nodded, more to herself than Lexa, and flung the car in reverse.  </p>
<p>“Can’t be much different than the rover,” she muttered to herself, swapping quickly from the brake pedal to the gas.  The car shot back much quicker than she’d expected, and she slammed on the brakes again, the squeak of the tires accompanied by the heavy thud of a body hitting the back of her seat.  She clenched the wheel tightly and forced herself not to look back and focus on the task at hand.</p>
<p>
If Clarke could pinpoint the one thing that made her feel so grossly unprepared to face this strange new world, it was operating a motor vehicle that was more like a rocket than a rover, all while enduring the sound effects of a struggle from the back seat.  Ontari kept kicking the back of her chair and trying to scream against Lexa’s hand, but somehow, Clarke managed to maneuver the vehicle to the large, helpful sign reading “Exit.”</p>
<p>“Turn right,” Lexa instructed, and Clarke spun the wheel and pushed the gas as soon as the road was clear.  Her turn was wider than the lines suggested, and the tires screeched and smoked from the burst of speed applied to the pedal, but she was on the road.  </p>
<p>Her palms were sweaty on the steering wheel and her heart raced as she did her best to avoid the other cars and follow Lexa’s quick directions with Ontari’s feet kicking the back of her seat relentlessly.  Right again, then driving almost sideways through the parallel yellow lines to get to the right spot to make a left turn.  Other cars honked their horns at her and she’d gone through two lights that mandated she stop and wait, but Clarke kept her focus sharp.  Left again, then straight for a while, Lexa had led them to a road without lines and without as much traffic, and Clarke felt like she could finally breathe a little bit.  </p>
<p>“Take the next right and stop at the third house in,” Lexa grunted from the back seat, and Clarke stole a glance in the rear-view mirror to see Lexa’s black blood covering her hands and parts of Ontari’s teeth where she was still trying to grind through Lexa’s fingers.  She pressed on the gas and followed the directions.  </p>
<p>Her mind was in action mode: it slipped so easily back into focusing intently on the issue at hand; for the first time since she’d arrived, her thoughts weren’t haunted by what she’d left behind.  She had no room among all the moving parts of the here and now to dwell on the dread and helplessness that had settled into her heart.  Right now, she was trying to survive and come out on top, and that was charted territory.  That, she could do. </p>
<p>“This one!” Lexa said harshly, and Clarke slammed on the breaks in front of a decrepit-looking house.  The shutters were hanging off the windows, some of them torn down and splayed across the dead grass that coated the front yard.  The paint was chipping and peeling, the roof was in shambles, and one of the windows facing the front yard was broken.  An angry, muffled scream from directly behind her drew her attention back to the two struggling for control in the back seat.  She shut off the engine and glanced up and down the deserted street as she exited the vehicle.  </p>
<p>Ontari did not make it easy for the two of them to get her forcibly inside the house.  She screamed against Lexa’s bleeding hand, kicked their shins and tried to stomp on their feet, and eventually Clarke and Lexa had to tag team the maneuver with Clarke grabbing onto her legs and all but dragging the pair into the house via the side door Lexa directed them to.  </p>
<p>Once they were inside a living room with both red and black blood stains splattered around the room, with Ontari tied to a chair Clarke had dragged in from the kitchen with her mouth bound, Clarke pulled the gun out of the waistband of her pants. </p>
<p>“Scream, and I’ll shoot,” she said, pushing the binding from Ontari’s mouth down with the barrel of the gun.  Ontari glared at her with umber eyes alight with rage.   </p>
<p>“Clarke,” Lexa spoke lowly, the warning clear in her words.  She grunted, unwilling to take her eyes off Ontari’s face.  “Your shot will be heard.”</p>
<p>She readjusted her grip on the weapon, her finger planted firmly on the trigger. </p>
<p>“I don’t care.”</p>
<p>“You got yourself a brave bitch, didn’t you, <i>Lexa</i>?” Ontari crooned, and Clarke heard Lexa move behind her.  She held up her hand, signaling Lexa to wait. </p>
<p>“What the hell do you want?” Ontari spat bitterly, her lips stained black with the remnants of the blood drawn from Lexa’s fingers.  </p>
<p>“Nia.  Where is she?” Clarke said firmly, and Ontari snorted. </p>
<p>“I don’t know why you think I’m just going to <i>tell</i> you where she is.”</p>
<p>Clarke swung her arm, smacking Ontari’s head with the handle of her gun.  Ontari let out a grunt of pain and slowly raised her head, a strand of warm, red blood rolling down her cheek from where the metal had split her head.  </p>
<p>“Lexa, her blood,” she said, watching intently as the blood trickled down to her jaw, dripping and disappearing into the dark coat.  “It’s red.”</p>
<p>“What else would you expect?” Lexa spoke, and she glanced back at her.  Lexa had wiped the wound on her own face, a remnant of the black of her blood smeared across her cheek.  Of course, Lexa wouldn’t know.  Ontari’s blood status had been kept quiet as a secret weapon for the Ice Queen to unleash upon Lexa’s death.  Clarke hadn’t found out until it had been too late, but why, then, did she and Lexa remain <i>natblidas</i>?  </p>
<p>“She’s a <i>natblida</i>.  Nia kept it a secret,” she said swiftly, turning her gaze back to Ontari.</p>
<p>“What the hell are you talking about?”  Ontari snapped.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” Lexa said, stepping up beside Clarke as they looked down together at their hostage, wiggling and fighting against her restraints.  </p>
<p>“Me neither,” Clarke spoke, but pushed the thought from her mind.  It didn’t make any difference in their quest to find and end Nia.  </p>
<p>“I’m honestly surprised you came back at all, Lexa.  I thought for sure you’d be more careful after you knew we had your face.”</p>
<p>“You have nothing,” Lexa snarled, but Ontari’s bloodied face split into a grin.  </p>
<p>“We did a little digging.  Wasn’t hard at all, actually, with you being an ex-employee of Polaris and all,” Ontari spoke almost nonchalantly, but Clarke’s head whipped over to Lexa.  She knew enough about what Lexa had spent the last six years doing, but she knew nothing about the life that Lexa had walked in to, about what Lexa would be doing in a world where there were no Commanders, and by the stony look on Lexa’s face, she surmised that this was new information to the both of them. </p>
<p>“Lexa?” Clarke questioned, but Lexa did not move her gaze from Ontari.</p>
<p>“We know all about the little house on Stillwell Road, about your little lesbian lover, Cost—”</p>
<p>Ontari was cut off by Lexa’s fist smacking into her face, once, twice, before Lexa withdrew, hovering above Ontari with a rage Clarke hadn’t before seen from the calm and concise commander.  She was breathing heavily, almost panting, and her fists were clenched, watching on as Ontari spluttered and caught her breath, spitting out blood that had pooled in her mouth. </p>
<p>“<i>Anyway</i>,” she carried on as though she didn’t just have a few teeth knocked loose.  “Your file was almost too boring to read.  Model employee who quit six years ago after some kind of mental breakdown.  Nia figured you wanted your job back,” Ontari sneered.  “That you weren’t a threat, despite killing Quint and putting holes in both my feet.”</p>
<p>“Where is Nia?” Lexa growled, plummeting Ontari’s face with another punch.  It took longer for her to lift her head, but she eventually did, still sneering at the captors.  </p>
<p>“I’m sure she’ll send for you soon enough after this stunt,” Ontari’s voice was garbled with the blood that now dripped from her nose and mouth.  “Both of you will be on her shit list now.  The two of you, and Ms. Cortez.”  Lexa let out a roar of anger, and Clarke turned from Ontari to instinctively grab a hold of Lexa’s forearm to calm her down.  </p>
<p>“Lexa, she’s trying to rile you up,” she spoke clearly, but Lexa wasn’t listening and had shrugged roughly out of her grasp.  </p>
<p>“<i>Ai na rip of steiks-de kom yu joken klaka,”</i> Lexa snarled in <i>Trigedasleng</i>, and Clarke’s jaw dropped.  Before she could do more than react, Lexa had ripped the gun out of her left hand and pushed it roughly against the center of Ontari’s forehead.  </p>
<p>“Kill me and she won’t show you any mercy,” Ontari growled, but Lexa had pulled the trigger before her mouth had closed.  Clarke closed her eyes and clamped her mouth shut against the warm spray of blood that splattered both of them, her ears ringing from the proximity of the gun.  She could feel the wet blood on her lips and coating her face and hands and knew she must be covered.  She heard heavy breathing beside her and opened her eyes to see Lexa still staring at Ontari’s slumped over form, blood pooling at the bottom of the chair.</p>
<p>“Lexa,” she murmured, careful not to touch her tongue to her lips.  Lexa didn’t respond.  “Lexa!” </p>
<p>Lexa’s head jerked up and her eyes met Clarke’s: blazing and unforgiving, a terror shining through them that left Clarke’s mouth dry and her heart beating unevenly.  Lexa’s face was just as splattered as hers felt: her white T shirt was no longer white, her light-colored jeans just as bad.  They stared at each other, unspeaking, as long moments passed, before Lexa jerked into action and pushed the blood-splattered gun into Clarke’s hands.  </p>
<p>“We need to change.  You’re covered in blood,” she mumbled and moved to the corner of the room where they’d dumped their bags.  Clarke gaped as Lexa dropped to her knees and wiped her hands on her jeans before tugging on the zipper.  The noise sounded to Clarke just as loud as the gunshot had, and she understood Lexa’s warnings now more than ever.  Everyone on the block surely would have heard the noise.</p>
<p>By the time Clarke reached the bags, Lexa had already stripped down to her underwear and had grabbed a T shirt from the bag and disappeared.  Clarke shimmied out of her own clothes, tossing them into the pile Lexa started on the floor.  She shifted around in her bag until she pulled out a pair of sweatpants: they’d tried several pairs of jeans, but nothing Lexa nor Anya owned fit Clarke.  She pulled the drawstring tight around the waistband and knotted it just as Lexa emerged, still in her underwear but with a clean face, neck, and arms.  </p>
<p>“Come here,” she muttered brusquely, and Clarke silently let Lexa wipe the blood off her exposed skin with the wet cotton.  “It’s in your hair,” Lexa sighed, running her hands through the blonde locks, as if trying to disperse the blood.  Clarke shuddered and closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of Lexa’s fingers against her scalp to keep from thinking too hard about what Lexa was rubbing into her hair.</p>
<p>
“It’s probably in yours, too,” Clarke muttered, tentatively running her tongue across her freshly wiped bottom lip.  It wasn’t the first time she’d been covered in someone else’s blood, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last, but something about the still of the moment between them as Lexa carefully ran the cool cloth along the creases of her nose made her feel dirty about having Ontari’s blood coating her body.  Eventually, Lexa finished and tossed the shirt into the pile of reject clothing.  The red seeped through the wet fabric, running into sparse blots of black from Lexa’s fingers and her cheek, and Clarke forced her eyes away.  </p>
<p>“What now?” she dared to ask after they were both dressed in the spare clothes Lexa had so thoughtfully packed.  With Ontari dead and slumped over in the chair not ten feet away, Clarke felt like they had reached the end of their chase.  What were they supposed to do now?  Go home and barricade Lexa’s apartment in anticipation of Nia’s retaliation?  </p>
<p>“We need to drive back to Rockville,” Lexa said as she zipped up the bag.  “As quick as we can.  I’m sure it will not be long before Ontari is found.”</p>
<p>“How?  Lexa, I—”</p>
<p>“You did just fine.  Drive the same speed as the other cars.  Stay in the lines and avoid cars marked ‘Police.’  I know the turns well enough; I can guide you,” Lexa cut her off and held Ontari’s car keys out to Clarke.  Something about Lexa’s tone and the intensity that vibrated off her ever since she killed Ontari told Clarke that she wasn’t going to budge on this, so she reached up with a heavy arm and took the keys.  </p>
<p>By the time they pulled onto the cute, quiet little neighborhood street Lexa had directed them to, Clarke’s nerves were shot.  She wasn’t entirely sure how they’d managed to get from Polis to here without wrecking Ontari’s car, but she wasn’t complaining when Lexa directed her to pull into an empty driveway of a home she’d never seen before.  Lexa was out of the car before Clarke came to a complete stop, and by the time she jogged up the empty path after her, Lexa was turning around.  </p>
<p>“We have to get in through the back.”</p>
<p>“Lexa, who’s house is this?” Clarke whispered, but Lexa didn’t answer.  Clarke followed through the wooden gate Lexa had pushed open.  It opened to a quaint backyard with a few sun-stained patio chairs sprawled lazily around a concrete slab separating the house from the grass.  Lexa made a beeline for the sliding glass back door that sat slightly ajar, pushing it open wide enough to accommodate their bodies.  </p>
<p>Wordlessly, Clarke followed Lexa into the house.  A loud noise startled her, and she jumped as a grey ball of fur jumped off the couch and meowed angrily at Lexa, through proceeded to rub against her leg in an emotionally conflicting display.  </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Roscoe, I do not have time right now,” Clarke watched, dumbfounded, as Lexa addressed the cat and proceeded to fly through the small house, wildly opening doors and rushing through rooms.  She seemed to know where she was going as she methodically checked every corner of the house, her anxiety seeming to increase with each door she flung open.</p>
<p>“Costia?” Lexa finally called out loud, and Clarke’s heart clenched.  Oh.  </p>
<p>Everything clicked into place for Clarke, and she put a hand on the couch to stabilize herself from the unexpected emotions that bombarded her heart.  Ontari’s threats and taunts, Lexa’s uncharacteristically rash reaction, and her need to get to the quiet suburban house as fast as possible all passed through Clarke’s mind, and she could only watch as Lexa grew more and more desperate.  Clarke didn’t know what was going on with them other than that Costia was alive and well in this world, but had Lexa been here, with her?  She knew the way to the house, knew her way around and was familiar with the cat who lived in it.  Suddenly, Lexa’s desire to stay as covert and careful as possible made sense, and it didn’t have anything to do with Anya and everything to do with the life Clarke knew Lexa had lost once before.  </p>
<p>She felt out of place as she looked around the home.  It was nothing like Anya and Lexa’s apartment: it looked comfortable and lived in.  Blankets were rumpled on the couch, arranged in a manner that alluded to a cozy afternoon nap surrounded by the fragrant candles that littered every surface.  A warm-looking jacket was slung over the armrest of a chair adjacent to the couch, and house plants lined the windowsills.  </p>
<p>“She’s not here,” Lexa’s panicked voice broke through her examination, and Clarke felt her heart cracking slightly for the distraught woman in front of her.  She steeled her emotions and set her jaw as she stepped over the cat and made her way across the living room to Lexa.  </p>
<p>“Hey,” she said, dragging Lexa’s hand down from where she’d been frantically running it through her hair.  “Hey, look at me,” she said firmly, tugging on Lexa’s chin to force their eyes to meet.  “It doesn’t look like there’s been a struggle.  Could she be somewhere else right now?”</p>
<p>Lexa shook her head and stepped back and out of Clarke’s space. Clarke sighed and let her hands fall to her sides.  It unnerved her greatly to see Lexa so far from the composed person she knew her to be but forced her breathing to remain calm.  One of them had to keep their head on straight, and it clearly wouldn’t be the woman who had moved to searching the ground for prints in the backyard.  She blew a slow breath out of her nose and meandered into the adjoining kitchen.  There were a few dishes piled in the sink and an empty coffee mug sitting alone on the small dining table, but nothing stood out as odd.  Clarke looked around the wall for a light switch and flipped it on, illuminating the kitchen in a warm ambient glow.  </p>
<p>She walked along the expanse of the countertop, running her hand along the smooth surface.  A bowl of fruit sat next to the fridge, each piece looking ripe and fresh.  If Costia had been taken, it would have been recent.  As she passed the fridge a large calendar caught her eye, events sprawled out sporadically in a tiny, elegant script, heavy with looped and curled letters.  She scanned through the days, admittedly not knowing at all what day of the week it was, let alone the calendar date.  She felt as though that hadn’t mattered to her in at least seven years, and it was odd to see the numbers representing something, to see events planned so far in the future like there was never any worry that the day would never come.  She supposed these people had no reason to fear what tomorrow would bring.  </p>
<p>“October,” she muttered to herself.  Out of curiosity, she scanned through Costia’s plans.  On a Saturday she planned to lunch with someone called Annie.  The following Monday she had a doctor’s appointment at 10:45.  Mom’s birthday was on a Thursday the next week, and her schedule was clear up until three nights in a row, important enough to be circled, she had Parent-Teacher Conferences from 4:30 until 8:00.  Clarke’s eyes flew to the clock on the microwave, in small green numbers, reading 6:49.  </p>
<p>“Lexa!” she called, backing out of the kitchen and jogging through the living room.  “Lexa!  I think I know where she is!”</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>“I fucking hate the city,” Anya grumbled to herself as she shifted her unmarked cruiser into park along the road in front of the group foster home.  She always hated when there was a missing child.  Despite generally detesting children and thinking them to be the single most disgusting creatures on the planet, she hated when they went missing.  She’d found them too late far too many times for this to be a routine investigation, and since the moment she’d gotten the call, her muscles tensed, and her blood pressure skyrocketed.  </p>
<p>“I kind of like it,” Murphy mused, and she grit her teeth at his nonchalance.  She knew he cared deep, deep down, but sometimes he was the last person she wanted around on a case like this.<br/>
She tucked her aviator sunglasses into the unbuttoned collar of her dress shirt as the pair walked up the pathway to the looming oak front door. Murphy rapped three times while Anya pulled her badge off her belt, brandishing it.  It couldn’t have been longer than four heartbeats before the door was flung open, a pretty, yet distressed-looking blonde woman ushering them inside.  </p>
<p>“You must be Miss Vaughn,” Anya greeted, and the woman nodded.</p>
<p>“Call me Niylah,” she requested, and Anya nodded as Murphy pulled out his notepad and pen. </p>
<p>“I’m Detective Adesso, and this is Officer Murphy.”</p>
<p>Niylah nodded politely at each of them in greeting, her hands wringing together nervously as she led them into a small, cozy office off the foyer.  Another woman was inside, sat behind a desk, but rose to greet them as they crowded in the space.  She brushed her long, wild auburn hair over her shoulder as she held her hand out to Anya first, then Murphy.</p>
<p>“Luna Ayers,” she introduced herself.  “I’m—”</p>
<p>“The therapist,” Anya finished for her, having already been briefed.  Luna frowned at her but gestured for the two of them to sit in the chairs on the other side of her desk.  They sat, and Niylah moved around to sit on the edge of a small sofa tucked into the corner of the crammed office.  The group was quiet for a beat as Anya adjusted her blazer, looking between the two women.  </p>
<p>“Can you tell us a little bit more about Madi’s situation?  I understand her parents passed not long ago,” Anya asked, and Luna nodded.  </p>
<p>“Yes, they were in a car accident two weeks ago.  We got a call from social services that night, asking if we had space for a temporary placement until the state could contact her paternal grandparents,” Luna answered smoothly, Niylah nodding in agreement.  Murphy’s pen scratched against the paper as he quickly scrawled out his notes. </p>
<p>“I take it there’s been no luck with that?” Murphy asked, his professional voice only slightly more endearing than his typical lazy, sarcastic drawl.  </p>
<p>“No, we were going to start talking about getting her a more permanent placement either here, or closer to her old neighborhood so she wouldn’t have to change schools on top of everything else,” Niylah spoke, and Anya nodded.  </p>
<p>“I know you’ve only known her for a couple of weeks, but was she acting strangely at all before she ran away?”</p>
<p>“A little bit, yes.  She’s been very quiet since she arrived – hardly said two words to either of us—”</p>
<p>“Which is not unexpected for a child her age after a traumatic event,” Luna interjected, and Niylah nodded eagerly in agreement. </p>
<p>“Right, so we were just trying to help her feel comfortable and safe.  She didn’t interact with any of the other children, kept to herself, only came out for meals.  I went up to check on her this afternoon and let her know lunch was ready, and she started asking for a Bellamy and a Gaia,” Niylah said, and Anya’s eyebrows rose.  </p>
<p>“Bellamy, you said?” she repeated, and Murphy’s scrawling intensified.  Niylah nodded in response, and Anya sat up straighter in her chair.  </p>
<p>“That’s not a very common name,” Murphy muttered next to her, and Anya fought to keep her face neutral.  She’d read the girl’s file in the car while she had waited for Murphy to figure his life out a couple hours prior, and the family didn’t seem to have many ties around the community.  No relatives or friends close enough to take in the child while authorities sought out the grandparents, so she was skeptical that the family could have known the Blake siblings.  As far as she knew, they only mingled with other people in their late twenties who liked to drink too much for their age, and she didn’t think a forty-year-old couple with a twelve-year-old daughter would fit into that social circle.  </p>
<p>“Why do you say that?  Do you think she tried to find someone she knew?” Niylah asked, her voice climbing higher as the question tapered off.  Anya shifted slightly in her seat to lean forward. </p>
<p>“We don’t rule anything out,” the practiced answer easily rolled off Anya’s tongue.  “Keep going,” she urged Niylah, who wiped under her eyes and nodded. </p>
<p>“I-I went to get her some hot chocolate.  I just wanted to cheer her up, you know?  I couldn’t have been in the kitchen longer than five minutes.  I just warmed the water up in the microwave and mixed in some powder, quick and easy, but one of the other kids stopped me on the way back and wanted some more lunch, so I told him I would be right back and when I got back she was – she wasn’t there.  I looked through the whole house, but she was – she was just gone,” soft tears were rolling down Niylah’s face.  She blamed herself for Madi’s disappearance, that much was apparent.  Luna seemed less upset, but Anya suspected she hadn’t had as much interaction with Madi, the temporary placement who refused to talk.  Anya pulled a handkerchief out of her blazer that she carried around for precisely this purpose.  She passed it on to Murphy who handed it to a thankful Niylah, and Anya sighed, leaning back in her chair.  She hated missing children.</p>
<p>By the time they were on the road, headed back to their precinct, Anya’s head was throbbing.  They’d spent a while longer talking with the women at the foster home, taking note of anything else they felt worth mentioning about the newly orphaned girl they didn’t really know at all, before walking around the blocks surrounding the home.  The city police were already patrolling for her, but Anya had wanted to look with her own eyes.  She was half expecting them to stumble across a scared little girl hiding in an alley, but they’d had no such luck.  After a quick word and exchanging of numbers with some of the other detectives on the case, she’d led them back to the car. </p>
<p>“So, do you think those two are together?” Murphy broke the peaceful silence, and Anya gripped the wheel tighter. </p>
<p>“What are you talking about, Murphy?”</p>
<p>“You know what I mean.  One house, one bedroom,” he wagged his eyebrows at her from the passenger seat, and she held the steering wheel with both hands to keep herself from pushing Murphy out of the moving car on the freeway.  </p>
<p>“Shut the fuck up,” she growled, and Murphy cackled to himself, but said nothing until they pulled into the parking lot.  </p>
<p>“Talk to Bellamy,” she said as Murphy unbuckled his seatbelt.  “I doubt he knows anything about it, but still.  It’s weird,” she instructed, and Murphy scoffed but said nothing as he slipped out of the car, tossing a half-assed wave behind his back as he disappeared into the station.  Anya sighed and checked her watch.  6:30, on the dot.  Darkness swept through the sky so early this time of year that Anya felt it to be much later than it was.  She had another stop to make, hopefully to get a little bit of insight into the missing Madi Reeves by the only other adult in the area who would know anything about her.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>Anya winced the moment she stepped into the school and a chattering group of kids lingered near the doorways, their parents not far off being just as obnoxious in their animated conversations.  She moved quickly through the hallways with only enough familiarity to head to the right area of the school.  Child-sized chairs lined the hallways outside each classroom, parents awkwardly sitting next to their children as they waited for their turn.  By the time she reached the doorway with the name Ms. Cortez in the placard by the door, she’d crossed about twenty reasons to never have children.</p>
<p>
She peered her head into the classroom, knocking lightly on the door.  Costia was at her desk in the back of the classroom, thankfully void of parents or students, and her head shot up from where it was bent, pouring over something on her desk.  At the sight of Anya, her tired face broke out into a warm smile. </p>
<p>“Anya,” she greeted, standing from her desk and moving through the rows of desks with quick strides.  Anya gave her a genuine smile and moved a few steps into the room, meeting her near the front of the classroom and accepted the offered embrace.  She pulled back and looked into the tired, dull eyes of who had become one of her closest friends in the past nine years they’d known each other.  The bags underneath Costia’s eyes, the worry lines that had formed on her forehead in just the last year alone pained Anya to see, but she didn’t say a word.  </p>
<p>Costia’s smile fell, and the lines on her forehead deepened in worry as she stared back at Anya’s face.  </p>
<p>“Did something happen?  Is she okay?” Costia asked, and Anya quickly shook her head.  </p>
<p>“No, no, nothing’s wrong with Lexa.  She’s fine,” Anya reassured, deciding to keep Lexa’s new hot blonde housemate out of the picture for now.  Costia’s face relaxed and she let out a low breath, wiping her hand across her forehead.  </p>
<p>“God, I know it’s so stupid I still worry like that, it’s just—”</p>
<p>“Hey, no.  It’s fine.  Really.  I’m actually not here for a social call,” Anya said, and Costia cocked her head to the side curiously.  “I came to ask about one of your students, Madi Reeves.”</p>
<p>Costia nodded, her face twisting into sadness again.  Costia had always been an overly empathetic person, but the emotion seemed to line up so naturally with the lines that had started forming on her skin.  </p>
<p>“I heard about what happened.  Is she doing okay?”</p>
<p>“That’s what I’m hoping to find out.  She ran away from the group home she was staying in.  Nobody’s been able to get in contact with her grandparents.” </p>
<p>“She’s missing?  For how long?” Costia asked, her eyebrows raising in concern.  </p>
<p>“Just today.  It says in her file she hasn’t been to class since the accident, but the people at the group home didn’t really know her.  I was hoping you’d be able to tell me a little bit more about her.”</p>
<p>Costia nodded and backed up slightly to lean against one of the small desks, folding her arms across her chest.  “She’s smart.  She’s one of the quieter ones.  She draws a lot instead of paying attention,” a small smile tickled the corners of Costia’s lips, but before she could elaborate, a loud thud sounded in the doorway, and both heads twisted around to see Lexa, panting and slightly sweaty, her hair wild and flowing down her shoulders.  Her eyes were locked to Costia, a gaunt, crazed look in them that Anya had never seen before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you again to everyone for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Wipe Your Tears</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I didn't mean to make you guys wait so long, but I kept having stupid ideas that meant rewriting the entire chapter three times.  Thank you for reading, as always!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lexa’s palms were sweaty, and her chest was heaving despite the minimal amount of physical exertion it had taken to get to Costia’s classroom in record time.  She’d been there only a few times, but in her panic-driven state, the path all but fell before her as she dodged through families of young children, taking a left turn, and then a right, before she came to the little classroom with a placard on the door proudly announcing Miss Cortez.  Her heart was thrumming as she came to a stop in the doorway, crashing against the wooden frame with her shoulder.  It had been over a year since she’d seen Costia, but her tear-stained face still visited Lexa every so often.  She would console herself, justify the heartbreak she’d caused the other woman by stating that her head was still attached to her body, and her loving heart was still beating.  Heartbroken or not, Costia was still alive.  </p>
<p>To her relief, Costia was inside the classroom, alive and well, but to her surprise and inconvenience, she was not alone.  Lexa had half expected to barge in on one of Costia’s meetings with the parents of her students, and she would have preferred that reality to the one that faced her.  Anya stood across from Costia, her arms drawn up to her chest in the casual way Lexa knew her to stand while having a low-intensity discussion, but the moment Anya and Costia noticed her presence, Anya’s arms dropped to her sides and her face distorted into shock, then fury, and by the time she heard a breathless Clarke jog up clumsily behind her, the sharp features had taken on a murderous glow. </p>
<p>“Lexa?” Costia’s voice was quiet and tinged in disbelief.  Lexa tore her gaze from Anya’s to look at her.  She was leaning against a child-sized desk, wearing heels that allowed her to sit on the desk without her feet leaving the ground.  Her blouse was tight and white, tucked into a skirt that clung desperately to her skin, and her hair was down and curled, a light dusting of makeup across her cheeks and dramatizing her ecru eyes.  She looked beautiful, but Lexa knew her well enough to see past the façade.  Her face looked thinner, her brow crinkled into a natural-looking worried state, and the shock that penetrated her eyes stung Lexa’s soul.  Costia’s eyes had never looked upon her like that, not in this life or the first.  It stung, but Lexa had gotten through the impossible once before.  She could handle a little hurt. </p>
<p>“What the hell are you two doing here?” Anya spoke, her tone dangerous.  Lexa’s words caught in her throat.  The pleas she’d prepared on the short drive over were useless in Anya’s presence.  She hadn’t accounted for that variable.  She glanced over at Costia; the woman’s eyes were trailing over her shoulder to look at Clarke standing behind her.  Lexa took a deep breath and attempted to regain control of her racing heart.  </p>
<p>“I need to speak with Costia,” Lexa said, unable to keep the urgency from her voice.  Costia’s brow furrowed deeper, and Anya’s scowl hardened.  </p>
<p>“Not a chance.  Come on, get out of here,” Anya snapped, and she made to move, but Costia stepped away from the desk quickly and held a out a hand to Anya’s arm.</p>
<p>“Wait,” she said, and Anya’s jaw clenched.</p>
<p>“She lost her chance to talk with you,” Anya’s words scorched Lexa’s ears, but she kept her face still, clenching her teeth together to keep from reacting.  </p>
<p>“I can decide that for myself, Anya,” Costia said in that way of hers, the only person Lexa knew who could sound so gentile and so definitive at the same time.  “What’s going on, Lex?” Costia turned to face Lexa, and she drew in a shaky breath.  </p>
<p>“In private,” she murmured from between her clenched teeth, and she could almost see Anya’s hackles rise in response.  “Please.”</p>
<p>Anya glared at Lexa for so long she almost felt the need to repeat herself, but Anya’s eyes finally dragged away from her and over to Costia, who gave her a slight nod.  Lexa took another step into the classroom, her movements slow and precise, as though one wrong move would set Anya off or make Costia change her mind.  Anya emitted a noise that sounded vaguely like a hungry, cornered animal, but straightened her posture and turned to face Costia.  </p>
<p>“Call me later, Costia.  And you,” she turned to Lexa, stepping close enough for Lexa to see the blood vessels in the whites of her eyes.  “Don’t you dare make anything worse.”  </p>
<p>Lexa still hadn’t gotten used to Anya threatening her.  It still made her hand twitch for her dagger, to remind Anya of her place and that her respect for the General was based on something deeply seeded and would not dissipate, but she could not stand for such treatment, and that Anya should know that, she should know better.  This Anya, however, did not know better, and has never been afraid to threaten Lexa bodily harm.  The sparring match in the living room six years ago proved that Anya’s threats were all empty, they both knew that, and Lexa had to remind herself that Anya was speaking now from a place of love for Costia.  They both wanted the same thing, she reminded herself: Costia’s wellbeing.  So, she swallowed her pride and provided Anya with a stiff nod, enough to appease the woman for the moment.  </p>
<p>Lexa stepped further from the door, indicating the end of the confrontation, but Clarke remained in the doorway.  She’d been silent throughout the exchange, but her eyes were sharp and alert and focused on Anya as she approached the bedraggled blonde.</p>
<p>
“Private means not you, Doc.  Let’s go,” Anya ordered, and Lexa watched the transition from passive observer to active defender in Clarke’s stance.  Her jaw tightened and she held her chin high, defiance painted clearly across her features.  She was the picture of bold, misplaced confidence, with the baggy sweatpants they’d stolen from Anya’s laundry and the T shirt borrowed from Lexa that was too tight in the chest and too baggy everywhere else.  She looked out of place standing in the doorway of a classroom and next to Anya, in her rumpled work suit.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so,” Clarke shot out, sidestepping into the classroom as Anya approached.  </p>
<p>“Clarke,” Lexa shot out before Anya could answer.  Icy blue eyes met her own with resistance, and Lexa gave a subtle shake of the head.  Clarke had never been one to take orders, she knew that, but she also knew Clarke was the only other person in the room who knew the severity of the situation.  “Wait in the car.”</p>
<p>She saw the protest build in Clarke’s throat, and released a breath she’d been holding when Clarke finally nodded and turned to exit the room, but not before shooting Anya a sour look worthy of Wanheda herself.  Lexa could have laughed at how the two of them so naturally irritated the other, and she hoped there would be a time again when she could laugh to herself and pit them against each other for her own amusement, but her soul was clouded with anxiety and stress that felt wilder and more out of control than it ever had.  There was no room for humor amidst the chaos that was her heart, and she only felt she could breathe again when both blondes had exited the room, finally leaving her alone with Costia.  </p>
<p>For a moment, all she could do was breathe.  She drew in a breath so sharp it stung her lungs, and exhaled as slowly as she could, willing the panic in her heart to recede with each draw and release.  How was it so easy to be in the throes of battle all those years ago and remain stoic, clearheaded?  She let her eyes close for a moment, willing her own consciousness to comfort her like it had so many times before.</p>
<p>“Lex?” Costia’s voice ripped through the vain attempt at collecting herself.  She snapped her eyes open and turned her body towards the voice, drawing in another painful breath at Costia’s proximity.  On the carpeted floor, she hadn’t heard the click of Costia’s heels as she approached, and she stood not three feet away from Lexa.  Her eyes were filled with hurt, distrust, and concern, blending into an expression that sent guilt shooting from Lexa’s heart to the pit of her stomach.  “Lexa, what’s this about?”</p>
<p>“I tried to protect you,” Lexa’s words came out rougher than she’d anticipated.  She hadn’t heard her own voice sound that way in so long.  Her throat burned and felt raw and it shook each time she tried to say more.  This wasn’t how she’d planned the confrontation to go.  She’d planned to remain strong and confident.  Not five minutes ago she was reminding herself she’d gone through the worst of it before, but thinking those reassuring words again, the panic began to rise in Lexa’s chest.  She may have scraped by before, but only barely.  She couldn’t do it again.  </p>
<p>“From what?” Costia urged.  She didn’t understand, Lexa didn’t expect her to.  She’d kept her in the dark.  She’d evaded the truth of her whereabouts; she’d kept her research hidden and confined to the drawers of her desk.  She’d tucked away any evidence of how she’d spent her days an hour before Costia was due home each day.  She’d left her, she’d physically distanced herself from Costia to keep her in the dark and it had all been for nothing.  Her resolve cracked further despite her best attempts at collecting herself.</p>
<p>“I tried so hard to keep you safe, but I failed, Costia.  I failed,” she no longer felt in control of the words as they slipped from her lips, or of the tears as they trickled from her eyes.  Costia’s genuine expression pinched further, and she took a step closer to Lexa.</p>
<p>
“What are you talking about?  Please, tell me.  I’m fine, I’m right here, just please tell me what you’re trying to say,” Costia pleaded, and Lexa shook her head and closed her eyes.  Why was she so weak?  Where was the strength she’d prided herself on her entire life?  Where was her poise and control now? </p>
<p>“They know about you.  They know about me, and they found out about you.  You’re not safe,” the words felt garbled as they poured out and she forced her burning eyes open and drew in a ragged breath.  </p>
<p>“I’m having a hard time piecing this together, Lex.  Is this about that night, your injuries—?” Costia trailed off, as though the situation still burned her tongue to speak of.  </p>
<p>“Yes.  Costia, I need you to come with me,” she bit out, and Costia shook her head slowly and took another step back.  </p>
<p>“No, Lexa.  I can’t.  I’m in the middle of—Lexa, you <i>left</i> me.”</p>
<p>“I know!” Lexa quickly spat out; the volume of her voice surprising even her.  Costia startled and retreated another step.  “I know,” she repeated, summoning enough control to keep her voice at a steady volume.  “I know I did, and it did not work.  I thought I was keeping you safe, but they know who you are, they know where you live and – and something happened today that could make you a target.”</p>
<p>“You need to tell me what’s really going on,” Costia’s voice was firmer than it had been, alarm lacing her words.  Lexa closed the distance between them on shaky legs, and Costia stepped back until she bumped into one of the little desks.  </p>
<p>“There’s no time,” she said, and Costia shook her head and put up a hand between them, stopping Lexa’s second attempt at drawing nearer.  </p>
<p>“I don’t hear from you for a year and now you come in and demand I drop everything and go with you?  Do you realize how insane that sounds?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I do, and I would not ask this of you if I did not feel it was important,” Lexa’s patience felt paper-thin.  The urgency was taking over the modicum of control she’d established on her emotions, and Costia’s resistance was sparking the reaction.  </p>
<p>“My <i>job</i> is important!  I can’t leave in the middle of conferences!” Costia hissed, and as though suddenly remembering where she was amidst the emotional turmoil unleashed between the two, she righted her posture and wiped again underneath her eyes.  “We can’t do this right now.  I’ve got… Lexa, I’ve got ten minutes until the next family comes in,” she urged, glancing at a large golden watch resting loosely on her dainty wrist.  </p>
<p>“I’ll wait outside.  I will wait outside until it is finished, and I can take you somewhere safe.  I can tell you everything then.  I swear to tell you everything,” she urged, and goddammit if she wasn’t begging.  She couldn’t remember a single moment of her adult life where she’d been reduced to begging, but if dropping down on her knees and crying to the ground meant Costia would let her protect her, she would do it.  She roughly rubbed the back of her hand across her face, wiping away the cold tears that had fallen against her will, and Costia gasped.</p>
<p>“You – what the hell happened to your hand?  It’s all swollen!” Costia grabbed her hand and Lexa winced at the contact.  She’d all but forgotten Ontari gnawing at her fingers, but Costia wasn’t wrong:  Lexa’s pointer and middle fingers were swollen, a clear imprint in the shape of teeth in the center of the wound, her black blood scabbing where the skin had broken.  Lexa took advantage of the distraction to step closer and put a hand on Costia’s jaw, forcing her to meet her eyes.  </p>
<p>“I swear I will tell you everything, Costia.  Please.  Please, come with me.  Let me protect you.”</p>
<p>Costia seemed to hesitate as their eyes locked together.  Her irises danced in lateral motions as she swept her gaze from one of Lexa’s eyes to the other, her perfectly manicured eyebrows lowered in thought.  </p>
<p>“I – I don’t know, Lexa,” she finally said after what felt like a lifetime.  She sighed and dropped Lexa’s hand and pulled away, putting distance between them again.  She wanted to scream in frustration.  Her heartrate was at an all time high, the urgency blacking the corners of her vision.  Never in her life had she felt so intense, so wildly out of control.  It felt like so much work keeping her mind and body in check that she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out without completely unravelling.    </p>
<p>“Damn it, Costia!” Lexa felt herself snap.  She desperately grasped at the ends of her sanity to reel herself in, but it was a precarious hold.  Her heart was thundering, and her mind’s eye was swarming her head with visions, memories, of history repeating itself.  She slammed her fist down on the little desk next to her, the crash echoing around the empty classroom.  </p>
<p>“There’s a woman out there who will kill you to get to me.  She’s done it before, and she will do it again.  She will chop off your head and have it sent to me, and that will be the last I ever see of you.  I cannot let that happen again.  I will not stand by and let it happen.  Please, Costia, I don’t know how else to ask you, but I need you to <i>trust me.  Trust me</i>,” the tears were flowing out of her eyes like she hadn’t cried in her life, her voice was shaky with the sincerity of her words.  The color had drained from Costia’s face.  With a gaping mouth and wide eyes, stared at Lexa, who was breathing heavily, her hand still clenched into a fist on the small desk.  </p>
<p><i>“Please,”</i> she spoke again, whispered, her eyes locked to the fearful woman standing before her.  Costia stood still for a long moment, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, before she gave a slow, jerky nod, scared into submission.  Lexa closed her eyes and allowed fresh air to fill her lungs.  Her thoughts quieted; the panic subsided as Costia’s consent ran its course through her body.  The forced, synthetic calm she was hoping for finally reached her bloodstream.  She had not yet won the war, but this hurdle had been leapt.  </p>
<p>“Thank you,” she whispered again, her throat feeling raw and sore.  She opened her eyes to find that Costia had not moved, but light chatter from down the hallway grew loud enough to meet their ears, and they both looked up as a young family of three entered.  </p>
<p>“Hello, Miss Cortez!” a young girl said cheerfully, and Lexa’s eyes shot to Costia as the woman put on a false smile for the child and her parents.  </p>
<p>“Good evening, Sydney.  Mr. and Mrs. Barton, lovely to see you both.  You’re right on time,” Costia’s words sounded cheerful enough and seemed to appease the child and her parents, but Lexa could hear the strain beneath her vocal cords.  Costia was scared.  Lexa drew her clenched hand into the pocket of her jeans and took a step back as Costia addressed the newcomers.  “Go ahead and take a seat at the chairs in front of my desk and I’ll be with you in just a moment!”</p>
<p>The small family moved to the back of the room and Costia turned to Lexa quickly.  “Meet me at the house.  No, no—” she hurriedly cut her off as Lexa opened her mouth to contend.  “I’ll be fine until then.  We’ll talk when I get home, I promise,” leaving no room for argument, Costia ran her hands against nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt and moved with practiced ease through the straight rows of desk towards her larger one in the back corner of the class.  </p>
<p>Lexa turned and left the classroom as Costia sat behind her desk, a cheery voice greeting the parents and child again and following Lexa down the hall until she turned the first corner.  Her body felt shaky and weak, and her mind felt tired, but she knew the night was far from over.  She’d convinced Costia to come with, but to where?  They couldn’t stay at Costia’s house, she knew that much.  The address had been compromised.  They couldn’t go back to Anya’s – that would only complicate an already precarious situation.  Lexa doubted Clarke would feel comfortable taking refuge for the night in the apartment she had with Finn.  </p>
<p>The only option was a hotel.  Lexa and Costia had stayed in a hotel four years back for their “anniversary,” as Costia had dubbed the fourteenth day of September.  Costia had booked them a room somewhere Southeast, near a beach, and they’d driven out and stayed for a week in a small room with a large bed and did little other than lounge around in the sand and make love in the little room.  Upon their return, Lexa had noticed several hotels much closer to home, and she’d asked why Costia hadn’t just booked a stay in one of those. </p>
<p><i>“Sometimes it’s nice to get away,”</i> she’d said, and Lexa had agreed that the weather was nicer.  She pushed through the main doors to the school.  Her mind started formulating a plan involving the unassuming hotel across from the hospital with blue chipping paint as she made her way towards the parking lot, scanning across the sea of cars for where Clarke had ended up parking Ontari’s car.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>After Lexa’s clear instructions, Clarke had no choice but to follow Anya out of the classroom.  Her blood bubbled underneath her skin at the look in Lexa’s eyes, her gaze pleading for obedience.  Clarke knew how to obey.  She’d been a well-behaved child, listening to her parents and her teachers and generally doing as she was told, but living on the Ground had changed that about her.  Survival had taught her that not all orders were meant to be followed, and the parents and the teachers weren’t always right.  She’d stopped doing what she was told just because she was told to do it almost overnight, and so blind obedience felt odd.  It wasn’t truly blind, though, not really.  While she didn’t know the exact thoughts swirling through Lexa’s head and causing her to react like a madwoman Clarke had a hard time recognizing, she understood.  Lexa was scared; the plan she’d been carefully crafting over the course of the last few years had dissolved in one day of going off the beaten path.  Lexa hadn’t planned for Ontari to die today, and in all honesty neither had Clarke, but the ball was rolling now.   The unspoken plan was to keep history from repeating itself, and that meant to protect Costia from Nia.    </p>
<p>The only way she could see herself helping the situation was to listen to Lexa: she didn’t know Costia, and she didn’t know how much Costia knew about the situation.  Lexa, however, did.  It occurred to her that Lexa likely knew Costia better than she knew Clarke.  That thought alone sent her stomach churning, so she made a point not to dwell as she awkwardly followed Anya back the way she’d entered less than ten minutes prior.  </p>
<p>As much as she understood the necessity of Lexa speaking with Costia alone, she didn’t like being left out of the loop.  She was already so behind compared to everyone else about how this world worked, and it was just another situation she would have to be briefed on rather than experiencing firsthand.  It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Lexa to make the right calls or to fill her in on all the necessary information – she did.  Despite everything that had happened between them, or maybe even <i>because</i> of everything that had happened between them, Clarke did trust Lexa.  She trusted her, so she obeyed and followed Anya, even if that meant being alone with Anya for the first time since they’d fled Mount Weather together.  Unfortunately, this Anya hadn’t begrudgingly agreed to cooperate with her. </p>
<p>“I don’t trust you,” Anya broke the silence as they cleared the sidewalk bordering the schoolyard and their shoes met the asphalt.  Her abrupt, bold statement caught Clarke off guard, and she stumbled slightly to regain her footing after nearly missing the step off the curb.   </p>
<p>“Excuse me?” Clarke said, hoping she hadn’t heard correctly.  Maybe the wind had blown and distorted Anya’s words, or maybe she was so trapped in her own thoughts she’d jumbled them with whatever Anya had actually said, but one look at Anya’s face told her to stop lying to herself. </p>
<p>“You heard me.  Why do you seem like the catalyst for whatever bullshit kick Lexa’s on now?”</p>
<p>Clarke stared.  The question came out like rhetoric, but Anya was pinning her with a glare that demanded some sort of resolution.  She knew the situation was bizarre.  In fact, she felt like nobody understood quite like her how outlandish the whole scenario was.  A couple weeks ago she was dyeing Madi’s hair with berries, and now she was traipsing around a world that should have been a physical impossibility, haunted by lost souls at every turn.  How must it seem to Anya?  Anya, with no knowledge of the great warrior she once was, saw Clarke turning up and causing waves in the existence she’d grown familiar with.  Her mind saw Clarke’s presence as a deviation in the pattern of everyday life: it was natural for her to place blame on the inconsistent factor.  </p>
<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tried, but the lie felt flat and unbelievable even before it finished rolling off her tongue.  Anya scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. </p>
<p>“Try again,” she said, and Clarke felt defiance blossom under Anya’s unwavering gaze.  </p>
<p>“<i>I don’t know what you’re talking about</i>,” she enunciated, fighting off the smirk at the way the vein in Anya’s temple seemed to pulse in time with her words.  </p>
<p>“You’re not funny.  I didn’t realize they let four-year-old children become doctors these days.”</p>
<p>Clarke paused, remembering herself, remembering the role she was meant to be playing.  She narrowed her eyes at Anya and tried to portray a bravado she did not feel.  With Doctor Clarke thrust in her face, she lost whatever semblance of control and confidence she’d developed slipping back into old habits.  Old habits of running, chasing, and murdering made her feel <i>normal</i>, as sick as it was, but standing in front of Anya in the parking lot to the elementary school, she was reduced back to the woman she was tired of pretending to be.  </p>
<p>Anya seemed to notice the shift in her demeanor, her weakness exposed, because she wasted no time in pouncing.  </p>
<p>“I don’t know what’s going on with you and Lexa, frankly I don’t really want to know, but I swear to God if I find out you’re taking advantage of her—”</p>
<p>“Taking <i>advantage of her</i>?” </p>
<p>“You heard me.  I don’t know what kind of lies you’ve fed Lexa, I don’t know what you’ve made her believe about you, but when you decide you’re done feeding into whatever delusion Lexa is stuck on, when you decide to go back to your family and leave her, don’t expect me to ignore that.”</p>
<p>“Are you threatening me, Anya?” Clarke’s voice was cool despite the anger thundering through her heart.  Lexa had briefly explained to her one night after Clarke overheard Anya referring to “Lexa’s Psychosis” that it was Anya’s way of coping, to believe Lexa was sick, mentally inept.  Clarke had understood, to an extent.  She hadn’t felt in a position to judge Lexa over how she’d gotten through the last six years, and hadn’t thought about it at all until the present, with Anya shooting daggers at her in the parking lot of the school, accusing Clarke of taking advantage of someone mentally incapable of making sound decisions.  </p>
<p>“You’re damn right I am,” Anya responded just as evenly, though a fire was blazing in her eyes.  Clarke stared back; confident a similar inferno was mirrored in her own.  Anya had made it clear to Clarke how bad the situation looked, and Clarke’s anger at the accusation grew into the fury at yet another hurdle, another distraction, another deviation from the <i>plan</i>.  The plan that made her feel like she was doing <i>something</i> other than indulging in the petty drama that circled around this society like the acid fog, engulfing and suffocating everyone until there was no other choice but to lay back and take it.  The tension of the day built until it snapped, and unleashed a hellish reaction through Clarke’s bloodstream, yet her body remained still, her face stoic as she stared back into Anya’s eyes.   </p>
<p>Taking Anya’s bait would only worsen her situation, and she knew that’s what Anya wanted.  She wasn’t confident that Anya could make good on her threat.  From what she could tell, this world only indulged in open displays of attack in the form of entertainment, televised for people like Finn to watch from the comfort of their own homes.  Even if Anya were to try to fight her, she’d beaten her once before.  </p>
<p>“We want the same thing, Anya,” she said as calmy as she could, grateful that for once, her voice didn’t betray her.  It came out smooth despite the storm raging so wildly inside she was sure she was shaking.  Anya’s face hardened, her scowl deepened, and she looked like she was going to pop the pulsating blood vessel on her forehead.  </p>
<p>“I highly doubt that.”</p>
<p>“I love her, Anya.  I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her,” the admission rolled easily off her tongue.  She’d admitted it aloud to only her mother and to Lexa once in the City of Light, but it had been a phrase freely shared between herself and the stars late at night after Madi had gone to sleep and Clarke had felt alone and small.  Now, faced with Lexa in the flesh, the proclamation felt more like a secret than it had when she was keeping her feelings at bay, hiding them from her own self.  At her earnest words, Anya let out a bark of humorless laughter, the anger never leaving her eyes.  </p>
<p>“Sure, you do.  If you cared about Lexa at all, you’d leave right now.  She deserves better than a bored married woman taking an early mid-life crisis.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going anywhere,” she stood her ground, and Anya shook her head and let out a low sigh, as though trying just as hard as Clarke was to maintain control of her own emotions.  She watched as Anya’s face relaxed into a more natural-looking scowl, rolling her shoulders to alleviate some of the tension that had knotted into them during the argument.  </p>
<p>“I don’t have time to argue with a petulant child.  I’ve said my piece.  Don’t fuck her up worse than she already is, and don’t you dare try to come between her and Costia,” Anya said with finality, the bite of rage still lacing her words.  Clarke grit her teeth again, she wanted to shout at Anya, to tell her she had no business starting and stopping such high velocity topics at her own convenience, but a shrill cry broke through the air and spared both of them from the plethora of poor decisions Clarke wanted to make.</p>
<p>
“Mommy!  You came!” the screaming became coherent, and before Clarke could fully process what was happening, a little body collided with her legs and promptly took hold of her, pudgy hands and arms wrapping around her hips and clutching tightly at the loose fabric of her sweatpants.  Anya suddenly looked uncomfortable, and more irritated than angry, and Clarke let her eyes drop down to the dishwater blond head buried against her lower abdomen.</p>
<p>“Sam?” she murmured, realization sinking in.  When they’d pulled into the parking lot of the school, Clarke had noticed that it was the same one she’d gone with Finn to pick Sam up from, but in the haste of following Lexa and the whirlwind of events that followed, it hadn’t registered until the boy in question was pressed up against her, clutching onto her for dear life.</p>
<p>“Great,” she vaguely heard Anya mutter, but the anger she’d been festering at the woman had been pressed into the back of her mind, replaced with bewilderment and a sense of guilt.  The guilt sprung through her the moment she related the way Sam’s grasp felt to how Madi had hugged her when she was much smaller, and how her heart nearly gave in on itself as she surrendered to the sensation, manipulating the present into a memory she wanted nothing more than to relive.  </p>
<p>Sam mumbled something into her shirt that she couldn’t hear, and her arms moved instinctively, carding her fingers through his hair and gently tugging on the soft strands, encouraging him to lift his face, just as she had done years ago with wild brown curls.  She almost expected to feel the little twigs Madi used to always seem to have stuck in her hair from crawling through bushes and playing in the trees, but her fingers were met with silky strands and a soft, warm scalp against the cool evening air.  </p>
<p>Sam responded to her touch as though it was a familiar communication, and he propped his chin up against her stomach.  Eyes so much like her own stared up at her, wide and hopeful, preluding a beaming smile full of baby teeth.  </p>
<p>“I knew you would come!  I knew it!” he was excited, and even though he seemed to be thrumming with energy, he didn’t release his hold on Clarke’s torso.  “Daddy said you wasn’t going to, but I knew you would!”</p>
<p>Clarke was rendered speechless.  The unexpected onslaught of memory and emotion that Sam’s embrace had evoked within her was multiplied at the hope and adoration in Sam’s claim, the pride in his voice, and Clarke felt her heart begin to crumble.  She blinked quickly against the tears that threatened to burn her tired eyes and ran her hands through Sam’s hair again to ground herself and regain control of yet another intense emotion.</p>
<p>She didn’t have words for the child, so she tried to give him a smile, but his grin had already faltered, his tiny little eyebrows, thick like Finn’s, furrowed together in such an innocent display of confusion that Clarke had to watch her hands running aimlessly through his hair.  She couldn’t meet his gaze.  </p>
<p>“Momma, what’s wrong?” he asked, his grip around her waist loosening.  She surprised herself by not wanting him to let go, by wanting to live in the memory just a little bit longer, but he leaned away from her and jerked his little head over to Anya.  “You found my mom, what’s wrong with her?”</p>
<p>Anya let out a grunt of a sigh and looked at her watch.  “Your mom’s fine, kid.  I’ve got to go—”</p>
<p>“Clarke?” another voice broke through the night, cutting Anya off.  “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Finn approached the trio at a light jog.  She had to know that where Sam would be, his doting father wouldn’t be far off, and sure enough, Finn in the flesh had stopped just shy of stepping out into the road with them.  He didn’t look well: dark circles had formed beneath his eyes, stretched further and dramatized by the glow of the streetlamps.  His jaw was slack beneath the week-old stubble that had grown in patchy across his face, and his hair was mussed and flattened on the side, like he’d been sleeping on it.  She felt ashamed to think about how little she’d thought of him while traipsing around with Lexa, coming to terms with the theory Lexa had provided as to why she’d been stuck in this alternate world.  </p>
<p>Finn’s tired eyes flashed between Clarke and Anya, confusion rippling across his features.  “What’s going on?” he asked, harsher than his first question.  Anya responded with an audible groan.</p>
<p>“I so don’t have time for this shit,” Clarke heard her mutter, before she turned on her heel and stalked off towards the car Clarke recognized from being parked in front of Lexa and Anya’s apartment, leaving her alone with Doctor Clarke’s family. </p>
<p>“I thought – I thought she found you a week ago.  She told me you were safe and that was all she could say.  Clarke, what’s going on?  Are you all right?” Finn’s concern had an edge to it that she couldn’t place, and the tone of his voice seemed to enforce Sam’s beliefs that something was wrong with his mother.  He clutched tighter at Clarke’s shirt and she attempted once to gently pry his arms away, but he resisted, and she gave in. </p>
<p>“I’m fine, I’m just fine,” she spoke mostly to Sam, keeping her voice as calm as she could, summoning the tone she’d adopted to soothe Madi’s nightmares during the early days of their relationship.  </p>
<p>“Where’ve you been?” Finn asked, and she swallowed thickly.  She couldn’t fault him for asking, for wondering.  In a normal situation what she’d done would be uncalled for, but there was no avenue in defending her choices to him that didn’t involve hurt or unnecessary explaining.  She was painfully aware, however, that she had to say <i>something.</i>  Both Finn and Sam were looking at her expectantly, and her mind got caught in an ineffective loop as her gaze locked with tearful blue eyes.  </p>
<p>“I’m helping a friend with something very important to her,” she finally croaked out.  It was the best truthful non-answer she could summon.  Sam’s eyes widened in curiosity, and in her peripheral vision, she saw Finn shift in agitation.  </p>
<p>“Like a hero?” Sam inquired.  His innocent mind, unmarred by death and the cruelty the world could inflict, was infinitely easier to soothe than Madi’s had been.  Madi had seen pain and suffering – had experienced it for herself – and it had taken a toll on her young mind.  Clarke’s heart lurched and she forced down another dry swallow.</p>
<p>“A hero’s helper,” she supplied.  She was no hero.  She had selfish motives, coincidentally aligning with Lexa’s perspective of the greater good.  Even if Lexa was only seeking to end Nia’s reign for Costia’s protection, she had purer reasons than Clarke.  Clarke only wanted the sliver of a chance to hold her own child in her arms again.  </p>
<p>“You couldn’t have called and told me that?” Finn’s voice was filled with hurt, anger, and everything Clarke felt he was justified in feeling.  For the first time since he approached, she dragged her gaze away from Sam’s to look at him, and she honestly hadn’t been expecting the cold stare shooting directly at her.  She expected upset, she expected hurt, but was met with a bitterness that she felt down to the marrow of her bone, a betrayal she recognized only from having felt it herself, but the argument with her mother and Finn flashed through her mind.  </p>
<p>The dull flame of anger left behind by the verbal altercation with Anya was sparked by the look in Finn’s eyes, and although Clarke couldn’t care less that he’d cheated on Doctor Clarke, he didn’t know that.  He didn’t know she was a different woman than his wife, the woman he’d wronged, and he still had the nerve to act like the victimized innocent party.  Yes, she’d left for reasons unknown to him, but she wasn’t the wife who put up with whatever the hell he threw at her.  Her emotions were running high.  The drastic turns of the day were taking their toll on her control.  She’d felt helpless, bored, exhilarated, scared, angry, guilty, and heartbroken all in the last twenty-four hours.  She had particles of someone else’s blood in her hair, the stench of fresh death in her nose, and she had no patience for the guilt trip Finn was trying to send her on. </p>
<p>“Don’t look at me like I’ve wrecked your entire life,” she said icily, her hands running down Sam’s head to cup gently over his ears.  He was the true victim of the circumstances laid out before them, and he didn’t deserve the memory of this encounter.  He wiggled against the hold but didn’t try to escape. </p>
<p>“Haven’t you?” Finn countered, hardly waiting a full beat.  “How’d you know his conference was tonight?  Have you been to the house?  Waited until I left, snuck in and took a peek at what was going on in our lives since you can’t be bothered to ask us yourself?”</p>
<p>
“Of course, I didn’t,” she snapped back, her hands pressing tighter against the boy’s ears.  His hold around her middle had grown week, his fidgeting subsided.  She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.   </p>
<p>“Then what are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“I’m here for a friend,” she reiterated, refusing to provide more information.  She left for a reason.  It was too risky to behave how she needed to in front of Finn.  She knew it would hurt him, but try as she might, she couldn’t hide from the destruction that followed everywhere she went. </p>
<p>She breathed in deeply through her nose, eyes locked to Finn’s.  She ran the thought over and over through her head like a mantra, <i>he’s hurt, he’s upset, don’t make this worse.</i>  It felt like it was working, the burning rage that tickled the tips of every extremity on her body seemed to be cooling, but Finn’s temper was only rising.  </p>
<p>“I really thought you were better than this,” Finn’s words were like a growl.  “Leave me, fine.  I get that.  I really do,” his words got lower and slower, and all Clarke could do was wait for the eruption.  She held Sam’s head tightly against her stomach, trying to focus on the feel of his breathing against her to keep her grounded, to remind herself of where she was.  She could take a verbal lashing from Finn any day, even if she knew she would cry later about the disgust in his eyes as he glowered at her, but something in the pit of her stomach propelled her to shield the child from seeing his father like this, seeing either of his parents like this.  </p>
<p>“But don’t you dare <i>fucking</i> walk in and out of Sam’s life like this.  He adores you, and you’re breaking his heart,” the explosion was colder, quieter than she thought it would be.  Sam wasn’t <i>her</i> son, but she felt the sting of Finn’s words like he was.  </p>
<p>“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she said honestly, at a loss for what else she could say.  Finn wasn’t wrong, as badly as she wanted him to be the offender in the picture, he wasn’t.  His look of betrayal hadn’t been misplaced after all, and she wanted to be sick.  She didn’t mean for this to happen, but it was on par for the rest of her life.  Everywhere she went, she left heartache and hurt in her wake, and this parallel world was no different.  Even in death, Clarke pillaged innocent hearts.  </p>
<p>“I need you to tell me right now,” Finn’s words were so calm, so collected, that they sounded surreal coming out of the mouth set into such a grim, tight line.  “Were you planning on coming back?”</p>
<p>Words escaped her.  The honest answer was beating at the front of her mind, begging to be released, but the weak, selfish part of her brain was pushing it down and away, entirely afraid of having Finn’s reaction immortalized in her memories for the rest of her days.  The weak part of her soul was strong, but stupid.  She’d waited too long, the internal battle in her mind had answered for her, and Finn’s face turned cold.  </p>
<p>“Stay the hell away from us, Clarke,” he said in a voice that was almost toneless, and he reached out towards where Clarke was still cradling Sam’s head against her stomach.  She almost winced, but Finn’s hand never made contact.  Instead, he stilled, anger growing on his features, and Clarke looked down.  Another hand had appeared, with a tight grasp on Finn’s wrist, and Clarke’s heart sank into the depths of her stomach.</p>
<p>“Is there a problem, Clarke?” For the first time in almost seven years, Clarke wished Lexa’s diplomatic voice hadn’t appeared from over her shoulder.  Finn’s expression soured, and he jerked his hand away and out of Lexa’s grasp.  She felt Lexa’s hand hovering protectively over the small of her back, and all she could do was watch as Finn’s eyes followed the movement, traced the distance between them, and came to the conclusion in a matter of seconds. </p>
<p>“Oh,” he said plainly, taking a step back and shaking his head.  “Suddenly this makes more sense,” Finn spat bitterly, and Clarke shook her head quickly.</p>
<p>“No, Finn, you don’t know what you’re saying—” she tried to reason, but he wouldn’t be stopped.</p>
<p>“A taste of my own medicine is just what the doctor prescribed, is that right?”  </p>
<p>Sensing another change in the mood and taking advantage of Clarke’s distraction, Sam wiggled out of Clarke’s grasp and stared up at the stranger, wide-eyed and slack jawed.  His face was as wet as the front of Clarke’s shirt, stained with tears, and Clarke’s attention snapped to him as though she couldn’t control it, and she dragged her thumbs across his cheeks to wipe them away.  </p>
<p>“Mommy, what’s going on?” his voice trembled, and he stepped back from Clarke.  Her hands chased after him, catching the front of his shirt.</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, look at me,” she tried to capture his attention, but the fearful, young blue eyes were snapping rapidly between his father and Lexa.  </p>
<p>“Mommy, what’s—”</p>
<p>“Shh,” she knelt so quickly to Sam’s level that her knee collided unpleasantly with the asphalt, a rock digging into her skin through the thin cotton material of the sweatpants.  “Shh, it’s okay,” she repeated, unsure if she was talking more to herself or the frightened young boy.  </p>
<p>“Did she tell you she’s married?” Finn had turned to Lexa, and Clarke didn’t need to look to know that Lexa was using her infuriatingly emotionless expression on him.  </p>
<p>“She did,” Lexa supplied unhelpfully, and she heard Finn let out an undignified snort.  </p>
<p>“Okay,” he said after a long moment.  “Okay.  Sam, we’ve got to go.  We’re going to be late for your appointment.”</p>
<p>“No!” Sam cried suddenly, flinging his arms around Clarke’s neck with such vigor she almost lost balance, wincing as the rock dug further into her knee.  “I want to stay with Mommy!”</p>
<p>Her heart ached helplessly at Sam’s pleas; his wet little face buried into her neck.  She hurt for Sam, for Finn.  She hadn’t meant for either of them to be hurt by the actions she felt she had to take, but she knew there was nothing she could do in this situation but let them go.  Drawing it out further would only cause more pain, and she had to carry on with the plan, with the only thing in this world that made an ounce of sense – and even then, it was sketchy.  </p>
<p>“Sam, now,” Finn said, his voice firmer than she’d ever heard it be with the little boy.  Sam shook his head against her hair, and Finn stepped forward, shooting a glare at Lexa as he passed in front of her.  </p>
<p>“Sam, hey,” she spoke in a quiet rasp, reaching her arms behind her neck to gently untangle his clasped hands.  She held the pudgy, sweaty little fingers in a tender hold and pried him softly away from her neck.  His eyes were wet and pointed to the ground, his cheeks were blotchy, and she let go of one of his hands to wipe at his face and tap underneath his chin.  “Hey, look at me.”</p>
<p>His lip quivered as their eyes met, and she tried to keep her voice as even and confident as she could muster, forcing her lips up into a small smile.</p>
<p>“You have to go with Daddy, okay?” she said, nodding to him, but Sam shook his head and made to bury his face again in her hair.</p>
<p>“No!” he cried, and she caught him by the shoulders and shook her head, tears pooling in her own eyes as she cupped his face.</p>
<p>“Don’t cry, it will be okay.  You have to go meet with your teacher so she can tell Dad all about how smart you are,” she tried to keep her own tears at bay as she spoke the words as positively as she could, but Sam just shook his head out of her grasp and lifted the collar of his shirt to wipe away some of the snot that had started dripping out of his nose.  </p>
<p>“I want you to come,” he said weakly, and Clarke had to physically force her face to maintain the pleasant, soft expression. </p>
<p>“I know, but I have to go help my friend, okay?  Remember?” </p>
<p>“Is she the hero?” he asked as his eyes trailed over again to Lexa, hiccupping slightly, and Clarke nodded eagerly.  </p>
<p>“Yeah, she’s the hero, and she needs me to help her right now.  So, I need you to help me by being good for your dad, okay?”</p>
<p>Sam didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he gave a weak, shallow nod, another hiccup wracking his tiny body.  The tears had stopped flowing so heavily, and he nodded again.  Finn stepped forward again.</p>
<p>“Come on, buddy,” he said, his voice softer this time, and Clarke felt her heart catch in her throat as her eyes raked across the boy’s face once more.  Suddenly, she didn’t want to say goodbye to him.  She hardly knew him, but he’d awoken a feeling in her she thought she wouldn’t feel again.  Sam nodded to his father, but Clarke found herself interrupting before she fully registered what was happening.</p>
<p>“Wait,” she said, and Sam and Finn both paused.  </p>
<p>“I need you to remember something, okay?” she said, her voice unanticipatedly watery and weak, even to her own ears.  </p>
<p>“O-okay,” Sam agreed, his breath hitching on the word as he continued to regain control of his breathing.  Clarke leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead right below his hairline, breathing in the smell that although was entirely foreign to her, she knew she didn’t want to forget.  </p>
<p>“Always remember how much I love you, okay?  Don’t ever forget, not for one minute,” she spoke the words quietly to him, simultaneously hoping they travelled across time and space and touched the ears of another young person she’d never be able to say them to again.  Even if she barely knew the child, and her heart ached for Madi, she needed to say the words just as much as Sam needed to hear them.  Sam nodded, and she nodded back, pulling away and standing up.  Finn was looking at the ground next to Sam, an unreadable blank expression on his face, and Lexa was standing politely a few feet away, watching the sky with a false intrigue.  Clarke cleared her throat and nodded at Finn, who immediately stepped forward and put his hands atop Sam’s shoulders.</p>
<p>“Come on, Sammy.  Let’s go,” he said, and he guided the boy out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, heading towards the school without another look back at Clarke, and she watched them go until they disappeared into the building, a hurt in her heart that she hadn’t expected to feel.  She shook her head and refused to dwell, turning to Lexa.  Lexa had given up the pretense of giving them space, and she was staring directly at Clarke, a soft expression akin to pity in the eyes that had been filled with a tumultuous storm not even an hour prior.  She felt her emotions harden and redirected her thoughts, almost desperately, to the plan.  She didn’t understand the feelings that confrontation had ignited, but she knew how to put business first.  That was familiar, that was comfortable, and that was what she needed right now to keep her head from devolving into a rabbit hole of thought.  </p>
<p>“What’s the plan?  Where’s Costia?” Clarke asked abruptly, and Lexa’s expression shifted into one of focus, giving Clarke a small nod.  </p>
<p>“Costia has agreed to come with us after her conferences are finished.  She said to meet at her house.  We can use the time to prepare the next steps,” Lexa explained as they unanimously decided without a word to move towards where Clarke had precariously parked the car in the rush to get to Costia.  </p>
<p>“How much time do you think we have until Nia notices Ontari is gone?”</p>
<p>“It’s difficult to say.  It’s likely Ontari is expected somewhere tonight, but as soon as Nia finds out, she’ll know it was us.  Me.  She’ll know it was me,” Lexa’s voice had taken on a grim tone, and Clarke glanced over at her as she slipped the car keys from the pocket of her sweatpants.  Her brow was furrowed like she was deep in thought, mindlessly opening the car door and climbing into the passenger side.  Clarke followed suit and turned the ignition over as soon as her own door was shut.  The car purred to life, and she shifted it into gear with significantly more ease than she’d done earlier in the evening. <i> God, had it only been a few hours ago?</i> </p>
<p>“How?” she couldn’t help but ask as she pulled carefully out of the crooked park job she’d managed.  She had a hard time believing that Nia, responsible for hundreds of missing women, would have no other enemies besides Lexa.  </p>
<p>“She has cameras in each of the safehouses,” Lexa supplied the information like she was spouting off casual everyday conversation pieces, and Clarke nearly slammed on the brakes in surprise.  </p>
<p>“She <i>what</i>?” </p>
<p>“Surveillance cameras.  Surely Skaikru knew about that kind of technology,” Lexa scoffed as though she’d known about them all her life, when Clarke had good reason to believe she’d only found out about “surveillance cameras” sometime in the last six years.<br/>
“I know what they are,” she snapped, turning the car a little too roughly out onto the main road in the general direction of where she recalled Costia’s house to be.  “Why did we even go there?”</p>
<p>“This world is not brimming with places to hold hostages, Clarke,” Lexa’s tone was almost bored, and Clarke found herself missing the quiet, frantic Lexa.  That Lexa didn’t have time for smartass remarks.  Whatever happened in that classroom must have soothed the panic that had erupted in Lexa the moment Ontari revealed she knew about Costia, or maybe it was enough to see that Costia was still alive.  Clarke breathed out through her nose and flexed her fingers along the smooth steering wheel. </p>
<p>“You’re going to have to tell me where to turn,” she responded in lieu of arguing over choices already made.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>They parked the car in Costia’s driveway for the second time that evening, and Clarke followed Lexa through the little gate on the side of the house, each of them with a gun tucked into the waistband of their pants at Lexa’s request.  Lexa made the journey slowly, and Clarke knew she was looking for signs of someone else being here since they’d left the property.  She didn’t see anything out of place other than the fat gray cat from earlier lounging across the cool cement porch, but Lexa stepped over the cat, muttering a distracted “Hello.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here,” Clarke murmured after she helped Lexa sweep through the house.  Lexa nodded and flipped on the lights, before storming towards the little room off the living room, the door nestled between the television and a bookshelf full of DVDs.    </p>
<p>“I don’t want us to be anywhere near here when they show up,” Lexa said, and Clarke watched as she tore through the bedroom with a familiarity that tugged on Clarke’s heartstrings.  The bedroom before her seemed more suited to Lexa than the stale stalker bedroom back at Anya and Lexa’s apartment: the tones were light and warm, and much like the rest of the house, this room seemed thoroughly lived in, though not to the extent that Finn’s bedroom was back at his apartment.  The floor was clear but the surfaces were covered in knick-knacks and photos, and Clarke’s heart clenched as she saw the smiling face of a Lexa she almost didn’t recognize beaming up from the frame, Costia curled into her side like she was made to fit there perfectly.  </p>
<p>Lexa let out a grunt and Clarke’s eyes pulled painfully away from the photo, glad for any distraction.  Lexa heaved a small suitcase out from the closet and tossed it on the mussed-up floral duvet draped across the bed and began transferring clothes from the chest of drawers with little regard for what the items were or how they fell into the suitcase, the neatness and precision in which she folded her own laundry long forgotten.  </p>
<p>“What do you need me to do?” Clarke asked, suddenly desperate for a task to occupy her mind and hands.  Unfortunately, Lexa shook her head as she moved into the en suite, emerging moments later with an armful of bottles and products that got dumped just as gracefully into the suitcase.  </p>
<p>“How long is this going to take?” she asked as Lexa pressed down on the top of the suitcase in order to close it.  Clarke took several swift steps across the room and swatted Lexa’s hand away from the zipper.<br/>
“It takes as long—”</p>
<p>“Never mind,” Clarke cut her off before Lexa could finish as she tugged the zipper closed.  Lexa let out a low sigh at the accomplished task, and she shot Clarke a small, grateful quirk of her lips before heaving the suitcase off the bed.  </p>
<p>“We can’t stay here.  They have—”</p>
<p>“Her address, I know,” Clarke interrupted, taking the suitcase from Lexa.  It was heavier than it looked, and she grunted, dropping it to rest on the wheels at the bottom.  “Where are we going to go?  Back to your place?” she asked as she dragged the suitcase through the plush carpet.</p>
<p>“No.  I can’t risk involving Anya,” Lexa said, shaking her head.  “I have a place in mind—” </p>
<p>Lexa’s words were interrupted by the sound of keys sliding into the front door.  Lexa held still, her eyes glued to the door, and Clarke rested her palm on the handle of the gun tucked into her sweatpants, and both women let out a low sigh of relief as Costia’s curled head appeared in the doorway.  While she wasn’t surprised to see them in her house, crowded awkwardly in her small sitting room, the air of discomfort was unmistakable. </p>
<p>“Nice Tesla,” she commented lightly, avoiding the elephant in the room as shrugged out of her jacket and hung it gently on the hook that lived next to the front door.  Clarke’s brow furrowed in confusion as Costia stared between Lexa and Clarke, her own frown forming.  “The car?  In my driveway?”</p>
<p>“Right,” Clarke said, nodding.  She glanced over at Lexa.  “We shouldn’t keep using it.  It’s not exactly inconspicuous.”</p>
<p>“I agree, but we can’t leave it here,” Lexa said.  “I don’t want to risk an obvious trail.”</p>
<p>Costia’s eyes flashed between Clarke and Lexa, her brow furrowing again into its natural worried state as her eyes landed on Clarke.  “It’s not yours?”</p>
<p>Clarke could only muster a grimace for the beautiful woman who looked like she could use a drink or three.  “Not really my style.”</p>
<p>“How did you get a Tesla, Lex?” Costia flipped her attention back to Lexa and Lexa shook her head.  </p>
<p>“Not mine,” she supplied, before turning her attention over to Clarke.  “We can leave it somewhere public and take Costia’s car to the hotel,” she spoke quickly and made to grab Costia’s suitcase.  Clarke nodded, but Costia was quick to step in Lexa’s path, holding out a hand to block her as though a dainty little arm was enough to stop the Commander of Blood.  Apparently, it was enough because Lexa halted seconds before Costia’s hand touched her shirt. </p>
<p>“Do you have a <i>stolen car</i>?” Costia seemed scandalized, and Lexa seemed to have an infinite amount of patience with the woman.  </p>
<p>“Costia,” she pleaded with the woman to cooperate, and Costia took a step back and shook her head in disbelief.</p>
<p>“What are you saying about a hotel?  I have to be back to work on Monday, I—<i>Why did you steal a car?</i>”</p>
<p>“Costia,” Clarke snapped, and both other heads in the room spun so quickly towards her it could have been comical, but there was nothing funny about trying to smuggle an innocent woman away from a murderous hag who would use her as collateral without blinking an eye.  “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ll never get back to work if we don’t leave now.  We sit here, we die, so unless that sounds like something you want, we should get a move on.  Lexa, where are we dumping the car?”</p>
<p>Costia and Lexa gaped at her, taken aback by her outburst.  Costia almost had an affronted look on her face, as though she couldn’t believe she’d just been ordered around by a stranger in her own home, but Lexa recovered quicker.</p>
<p>“I know a place, I’ll ride with Costia and you follow us,” Lexa said as she pushed the front door open.  Clarke nodded, happier than she should have been to get out of the small house that oozed domestic comfort with Lexa and Costia’s names all over the place, despite Lexa no longer living there.  She didn’t want to glance at the pictures Costia still displayed of the two of them, to see Lexa looking happier and more beautiful than she’d ever seen her.  No, she just wanted to focus on the plan.  </p>
<p>Clarke climbed into Ontari’s car as Lexa lugged Costia’s suitcase down the front steps, Costia following closely behind her, her lips moving a mile a minute.  Lexa had an incredible amount of patience for the woman, and it looked unthinkable to see Lexa being so tolerant with someone when she’d seen her literally kick people off towers for disagreeing with her.    </p>
<p>Shaking the memory from her head, she followed Costia’s lead and started the car, and Operation: Ditch Ontari’s Tesla was a go.  Clarke followed Costia’s grey sedan the best she could.  Costia kept a moderately consistent speed and gave plenty of warning before making turns, and by the time they pulled into a large, crowded parking lot, Clarke had only slammed on the brakes three times.  She maneuvered the car into the lines next to the spot Costia had pulled into the best she could.  Ontari’s car was much more responsive than the rover, and she could only count it as a blessing that she never had to worry about squeezing the rover into tight yellow lines.  </p>
<p> Lexa waved her over from the passenger seat of Costia’s car, and Clarke nodded as she shut off the ignition and hurried around to the back door.  She tugged hers and Lexa’s bags out of the car and gave it one last visual sweep, looking for anything that might have fallen or gotten dropped.  A few black droplets stained the tan interior upholstery: Lexa’s black blood.  To the untrained eye it could be a splash of paint or a few drops of ink.  </p>
<p>Her eyes landed on Ontari’s cell phone, laying on the ground of the car and kicked slightly underneath the back seat.  She recalled the list of numbers Finn had stored in his; surely Ontari would have contact information for Nia.  Without much thought she leaned in and snatched the phone, shoving it into the front pocket of her backpack as she climbed out of the car and shut the rear door with finality, more than ready to walk away from the chapter of her life that involved Ontari’s shiny red car and the dead body they used it to run away from.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>As Clarke could have predicted, the drive to the hotel was near silent.  The radio was turned down low, Clarke could only hear vague thumps of the beat when the car was stilled in traffic or at a stop light, but she wasn’t paying much attention.  From her seat behind Costia, her eyes were drawn out the windows, watching the bright lights from billboards, buildings, and fellow cars as they sped down the road.  As miserable as this world was, as terribly as she missed her old life and her daughter, she couldn’t help but admire what the world could have been.  Bold, bright advertisements lit up the nighttime skyline, flashing lights in alluring colors all gave her a glimpse of what the humanity she’d known had been missing.  She’d known the Old World was like this, before the bombs, but the old pictures she’d seen growing up hadn’t done it justice. </p>
<p>All too soon, Costia slowed the car to turn into a parking lot that Clarke wouldn’t have noticed on her own.  It was surrounded with thick, bushy trees, bordered by obnoxiously bright signs that overshone the modest, flickering neon lettering that rested against a blue building with chipping paint that had seen better days.  “Rockville Rest Inn” looked to be about three stories tall with half the lights in the windows lit up behind drawn curtains, the other half looking almost eerily dark and still. </p>
<p>Although Clarke had no idea where they were in relation to the rest of the city, she knew they couldn’t have been driving for more than twenty minutes, headed West.  They weren’t back in Polis territory, and she felt a little better about the physical distance between them and Nia, at least while they collected their thoughts and formulated the next steps of the plan. </p>
<p>Costia turned off the car, and Lexa shifted sideways in her seat to look at both Clarke and Costia.  </p>
<p>“We can stay here, at least for the night,” Lexa addressed the two other women.  Clarke shifted in her seat, glancing at the top of Costia’s head out of the corner of her eyes.  The driver’s seat was too tall for her to get a good glimpse of the other woman, but her brown curls bobbed and tossed through the air like she didn’t agree with Lexa’s idea.  </p>
<p>“I don’t see how this is any safer, Lex.  I’m pretty sure there’s a drug bust here every other week.  I think they rent the rooms by the <i>hour</i>,” Costia confirmed Clarke’s suspicion, and she kept her eyes glued to Lexa for her reaction.  The Commander seemed to have a better grip on her emotions now that she had Costia in her sights, and in the cool tones of the dashboard lights, her expression was unreadable.  </p>
<p>“Costia,” Lexa’s voice came out softer than the statuesque demeanor that had fallen upon her.  “Nothing about this situation is ideal, but I need to keep you out of sight, and this is the best option right now.  We need to get a room.”</p>
<p>“You’re telling me some madwoman wants me for dead, but you want me to book a room with my credit card?” It was clear from the look on Lexa’s face that she hadn’t considered that, and Clarke couldn’t blame her.  She didn’t grow up using credit cards, or even leaning about them in school.  Neither of them did.  Costia had that advantage, and Clarke let a low breath slip out from between her lips at the potential crisis adverted.  She didn’t know what kind of tabs Nia was keeping on Costia but erring on the side of caution was better than scrambling to defend from a surprise attack.  </p>
<p>“I’ve got one,” she found herself saying, letting out a slight grunt as she dragged her backpack up on the seat next to her. The front pocket was still unzipped from stowing Ontari’s phone, and she thumbed through the small stack she’d accumulated until she produced the card, holding it out to Lexa.  Lexa shook her head and pushed the card back towards Clarke.  </p>
<p>“It should be you, in case of surveillance cameras,” Clarke nodded in agreement.  She didn’t like it, but all of this would be for nothing if Nia got to them over a stupid mistake.  </p>
<p>“What do I say?” she asked, trying desperately to avoid looking in Costia’s direction.  For some reason, she felt foolish asking in Costia’s presence.  Lexa knew her situation and wouldn’t judge her, but to Costia she was a full-grown woman with a case of nerves when faced with what apparently was a menial task.  Lexa’s eyes were soft and kind and burning with a determination that forced Clarke to summon some confidence from deep inside and employ it, misplaced or not.  </p>
<p>“Ask for a room for the night.  Anya said this place does not ask many questions.  I will wait here with Costia.  When you have the room, come back and we will all go together.” </p>
<p>It seemed so simple the way Lexa put it.  Clarke nodded and gripped the plastic tightly in her sweaty palm and crawled out of the back seat with as much grace as she could muster.  The moment she stood upright, her back groaned.  The weight of the day had taken a toll on her muscles as they’d sat still in the car, and she ached for the comfort of Lexa’s bed at her apartment that she’d allowed herself to grow used to.  </p>
<p>It wasn’t hard for her to snap her mind back into focus.  She ignored the burning in her upper back and turned to shut the car door, but a bright red sign across the street caught her eye.  In clear block letters, brighter than the skinny pink neon hotel lettering, a proud sign stood a foot above some unkempt bushes.  Arkadia Memorial Hospital Emergency splayed out against the blackened sky, a large red arrow pointing out the turn into the parking lot of an imposing building.  Something in her tired, weary heart stammered to life.  She hadn’t heard the name of the hospital she was supposedly employed at, but that had to be it.  Her once-home, immortalized in the name of saving lives.  The parallels were too strong, too obvious, and the urge to run across the busy road and explore what Arkadia meant to this world tingled all the way to the tips of her toes.  She couldn’t.  She had an indignantly nervous woman to help Lexa protect, but if what Lexa had said was true – and God, she prayed every free moment she had that it wasn’t – she would take the time to satisfy her curiosity.  Now was not the time.  </p>
<p>She hadn’t been sure what to expect from a hotel.  The shaky sliding glass door automatically opened the moment her feet hit the weathered doormat with the hotel’s logo in a faded, stomped on graphic, and she entered a deceptively warm, open space.  Fake plants and leather chairs were scattered in clumps around the room, some surrounding accent tables laden with reading material.  Signs reading “Free Wi-Fi” were liberally displayed, and Clarke swallowed the ineptitude she felt at being immersed alone in yet another foreign environment.</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” she said, self-consciously running a hand through her dirty hair.  The man at the counter tore his attention away from whatever was captivating him, hidden from Clarke’s perspective.  He seemed young and tired, with gaunt, bloodshot eyes resting above permanent-looking dark circles.  His dark hair was buzzed short, with stubble dusting his cheeks as he offered Clarke a tired, lazy sort of smile.  </p>
<p>“Hello Miss,” his accent was different than anything she’d ever heard.  It was stiff and succinct with a level of informality that didn’t seem to blend with the tacky still life painting hanging behind the desk.  “What can I do for you?  </p>
<p>“I need a room,” her voice came out stronger than she felt. </p>
<p>“I figured as much,” he responded, the corners of his red eyes crinkling just enough to clue Clarke into the fact that he was teasing her.  The lethargy in her bones was too heavy for her to pretend to play along.  She laid the credit card flat on the counter and slid it across to him. </p>
<p>“Just for the night,” she said firmly, and he raised an eyebrow at her but took the card wordlessly and turned to his computer.  He typed quickly across the keys, reminding Clarke for a moment of Raven, the way her fingers would fly across the keyboard like they were operating independently of the rest of her body.  </p>
<p>“One bed or two?” he asked, and Clarke blinked at him for a moment.  </p>
<p>“There’s three of us,” she said by way of explanation, and his lip twitched. </p>
<p>“So… one bed or two?”</p>
<p>“Two,” she said through gritted teeth, and she swore she saw him bite back a grin as he turned back to the computer.  A few more typed keys, a few clicks of his mouse, and one swipe of the card she’d handed over through a little machine, and a sheet of paper was printing from somewhere hidden by the counter.  He slid over in his wheeled chair and produced the paper from behind the desk, laying it on the counter with a flourish that could only come from working for years at a mundane job.</p>
<p>“Sign here and she’s all yours.  For the night,” he winked at her as she took the pen from his hand and scribbled her name down on the empty line.  It felt odd to be writing her own name, even stranger to be signing it.  For as long as she’d spent as a teenager practicing and perfecting her own signature, she found she couldn’t remember the last time she’d signed her own name.   She’d written it out about four or five years prior, in clear, precise lettering to show Madi the proper way to draw out her letters.</p>
<p>
For the millionth time in that day alone, her heart lurched, and she pushed the pen back towards the young man and he slid across the counter her credit card, accompanied by two white cards of identical size with the logo of the hotel plastered on them.  </p>
<p>“Ground floor.  Room 112.  Check out is at eleven,” he said, and his plastic wheeled chair slid across the floor until he was situated back in front of whatever had been keeping him occupied prior to her arrival.  With another piece of the plan complete, Clarke headed back out to the car.  An odd sensation of temporary calm washed through her bones as she held the hotel key cards up the moment her eyes met Lexa’s, eagerly watching through the windshield.  Lexa’s lips twitched up into the soft smile that made Clarke feel, for just a moment, like the stresses and trials of the day were just a distant memory.</p>
<p>-------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>It became clear the moment the unlikely trio entered the dingy little hotel room that the evening would not go anything how Clarke’s evenings had been going for the past week.  Whether they got home late after tailing someone in Polis, or had turned in early for the evening, she and Lexa had readied for bed side by side.  Clarke’s own nighttime routine had involved bathing in a nearby lake and putting on warm clothes strung up by a fire, and because those practices were obsolete in this world, she’d adopted Lexa’s.  Lexa would wash her face and brush her teeth, braid her hair and change into comfortable clothes, so Clarke would follow suit.  Her hair was too short to braid so she would watch as Lexa’s fingers worked quickly through the tendrils of hair, and one night it had felt so torturous to watch that Clarke had offered to do it for her.  </p>
<p>Then, they would crawl into Lexa’s bed and bask in the stillness of the soft and quiet night.  As the nights went on, they would gravitate to the center of the bed earlier and earlier, holding on to each other tightly and speaking in reverent whispers until they drifted off to sleep.  The moment Clarke dropped hers and Lexa’s backpacks on one of the beds, and Lexa deposited Costia’s suitcase next to a television that looked like an extinct relic from the world before the bombs, she knew no such comfort would find them tonight.  Costia had set her purse down on the other bed and made no move to remove her jacket.  She crossed her arms across her chest and managed to stare at them both like the teacher she was despite her pale, fearful countenance.</p>
<p>“How about you start from the beginning?” she said.  Her gentile voice carried the weight of worry, and Clarke let out a sigh and sat down on one of the beds, letting her back fall against the firm mattress as she heard Lexa shift from somewhere near the old television set.  She kept her eyes glued to the popcorn ceiling, tracing her gaze across the distorted shadows that splayed across the room, but her ears were tuned sharply to the others in the room.  Lexa sighed and walked out a few paces, and Costia’s breathing was heavy and slow, like it was taking effort to keep it under control.  </p>
<p>“I stumbled across… something I shouldn’t have.  A year ago,” Lexa said, and Clarke closed her eyes and listened as Lexa launched into the story of Nia.  She recalled how she saw her in an article announcing the purchase of Polaris, revealed that from that article something inexplicably hadn’t sat right with her.  Lexa talked about researching Nia and the kind of person she was, and eventually resorted to physically following all the modern-day reimagined versions of the clan previously known as Azgeda.  She listened to Lexa skim over her first encounter with Ontari, providing Costia with even less details than she’d given Clarke, and she heard Costia’s shallow gasp as Lexa revealed that just today they’d encountered Ontari, and Ontari had spouted off Costia’s address. </p>
<p>She remained silent as Lexa fielded questions similar to the ones Clarke had asked.  Had she involved the police, and why not? Did Anya know, and why not?  As Costia pieced together more information, her questions became more specific.</p>
<p>“So, they found your information from old employee records?”  Costia’s voice was shallow, and Clarke’s eyes snapped open.  Lexa had left that part out of her explanation, and Clarke had honestly forgotten about the detail herself.  She sat up quickly, blinking against the black spots that clouded her vision at her sudden change in altitude.  Lexa was leaning against the dresser looking nothing short of ashamed of herself, and Costia was sitting on the other bed, her face as pale as the white duvet spread underneath her.  </p>
<p>“Yes,” Lexa sounded tired, but Clarke couldn’t tear her eyes away from Costia.  Costia was frowning at Lexa, her eyes unwavering as she studied the woman slouched against the dresser, looking nothing like the imposing Commander Clarke knew she could be. </p>
<p>“Do you remember working there?” </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Costia seemed to deflate at Lexa’s answer, but Clarke found herself wide awake.  </p>
<p>“The building must have seemed familiar to you because it was such a big part of who you were,” Costia seemed to be speaking more to herself than the other two in the room, and Clarke finally turned to try to meet Lexa’s gaze at that comment.  For as misguided as Costia was, she wasn’t wrong in her assumption.  </p>
<p>“Perhaps,” Lexa spoke stiffly, agitation crawling back into her voice.  She seemed to be avoiding looking anywhere but the wall behind Costia’s head, and Clarke shifted on the bed to relieve a leg that had fallen asleep.  As pins and needles shot down to her toes, she kept still, watching the conversation unfold. </p>
<p>“Where did you meet Clarke?” Costia was looking at Lexa, speaking as though Clarke wasn’t on the other side of the room, and at the mention of her own name she shifted a little on the bed.  </p>
<p>“She and I are old friends.”</p>
<p>“How come I’ve never heard of her before?” Costia countered.  She’d been surprisingly calm throughout Lexa’s revelation.  At times she’d looked like she couldn’t decide between wanting to be sick or passing out, but her questions had remained clear through her frightened voice, her tones even despite the obvious discomfort written across her body.  </p>
<p>“We’ve only just reconnected,” Clarke interjected, deciding to simultaneously help Lexa out and remind Costia that she was, in fact, present.  Lexa nodded in agreement, and Costia seemed like she wanted to say more, but her mouth closed, and her brow furrowed as another thought passed through her mind.</p>
<p>“What did you mean earlier, when you said Nia would – would kill me,” Costia seemed to stammer over the word, and Clarke felt a twinge of pity for the gentile soul in front of her.  She had no business being involved in this situation.  By the time the world had been destroyed, Clarke could not think of a single person so innocent and naïve as this version of Costia was.  Lexa had been right.  She was too good for the world they knew.  “You said it happened before and it would happen – again?”</p>
<p>“I’ve seen her do terrible things,” Lexa uttered out.  Clarke was watching her intently, and she could almost see Lexa’s mind picking through the memories for honest phrases she could say without telling Costia that she’d died.  </p>
<p>“Why did you say she would c-cut off my—”</p>
<p>“Because I'm afraid, Costia,” Lexa interrupted before Costia could finish her sentence.  The admission was raw and honest despite being a contextual lie.  It felt odd to hear Lexa say those words, and whatever tired ache had resided in Clarke’s back after the long day had been pushed to the back of her mind.  It wasn’t all that surprising that Lexa would be afraid, she was human, after all, but Clarke hadn’t before associated Lexa with fear.  Even as she’d stood proudly in front of a crowd of people, prepared to die at the hands of Roan, she hadn’t appeared afraid.  In fact, the air about her was almost as though she welcomed death.  Her spirit would live on, after all.  She’d been so confident, and Clarke had been so upset that she could so nonchalantly speak of her ultimate demise. </p>
<p>In the months following Praimfaya, when Clarke had been alone with nothing to occupy her but her own dark, dismal thoughts, she’d reflected on some of those conversations.  Lexa, straight faced and accepting about her death.  She wasn’t the one who’d had to hurt.  Clarke had been angry with her then, for bringing death upon herself by attitude alone, even as she knew that couldn’t have been true, it made her feel a little bit of something, alive enough to keep pressing onward.  </p>
<p>Now, however, the confident air about Lexa’s inevitable end was missing entirely.  In this world, Lexa must feel exposed, mortal.  Afraid.  Although there was no way Costia could possibly understand the significance of the situation, she accepted the explanation.</p>
<p>“You said this Ontari woman already knew my name and address.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“So that means, when you left…”</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s exactly what it means,” Lexa’s nervous energy finally snapped, and both Clarke and Costia startled at the outburst.  “It was all for nothing.  All the pain I put you through was for nothing.  I left you alone and at risk for a year, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.  It’s why I can’t fail you again.”</p>
<p>Lexa was seething, and Clarke and Costia both jumped from their sitting positions at the same time, each advancing towards Lexa.  Costia had been closer and reached Lexa first.  As she put a gentile hand on Lexa’s arm, Clarke’s mind caught up with her knee-jerk reaction and she forced herself to take a purposeful step back as Lexa shrugged away from Costia’s contact.  She was suddenly a third wheel in the conversation, an uninvited and uninvolved third party watching from the front row a lover’s quarrel of extreme proportions.  </p>
<p>“Why do you get to decide that?” Costia hadn’t shied away from Lexa’s standoffish behavior.  It seemed to fuel her, and Clarke watched the poised woman fall apart before her eyes, as desperation and horror met in her mind and <i>finally</i>, for the first time since Clarke had seen her, Costia truly reacted.  “Why did you choose not to involve the police, even though it meant risking your own life, risking <i>mine</i>?  And for what?  Justice?  Lexa, you’re not God.  You don’t get to decide who gets punished for their sins and who has to die for them.  You don’t get to determine that, it’s not your place.” Costia had stepped forward and pushed her finger into Lexa’s chest.  Lexa stood stiff, her visage drawn and defiant.  Clarke recognized the expression well; it was the same one Madi wore when Clarke simply <i>didn't understand</i>.</p>
<p>“Now you’re involved in all this – all this <i>shit</i>, and I swear to God Lexa, I don’t even know what to think of all this,” Costia seemed to be losing steam as quickly as it had piled on, but before Lexa could react, before Clarke could come up with an excuse to get out of the room for a while, a series of sharp knocks pounded on the hotel door.  Costia’s labored breaths seemed to stop altogether as silence stretched over the three women.  Clarke’s eyes met Lexa’s over Costia’s head, and the unspoken panic in the green gray had Clarke nodded and moving silently toward the bag she’d tossed on the bed.  She tugged the zipper open as quietly as she could, but it still seemed to echo across the room, and just as her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the gun, three more knocks rapped against the wooden door, harder and more impatient than the first set.  </p>
<p>“Costia, get down behind the bed,” Lexa’s voice was barely more than a whisper, and the sound of Clarke pulling back the slide on her gun bounced off the hotel walls.</p>
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